Death Curse
by Mousme
Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. Has Harry bitten off more than he can chew? Set between White Night and Small Favor. Spoilers up to SF. T to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first foray into fanfic _ever_, so please be gentle. :)

Summary: The problem with vampires who are also practitioners of magic, is well, that they are practitioners, with all that entails. It appears Harry may have bitten off more than he can chew. No spoilers I can think of.

Mostly I had a plot bunny insert itself in my mind when I read the words "death curse" for the first time, and it refused to let go. So I just went with it.

Disclaimer: Sadly, NONE of these characters or concepts are mine. I am playing in Jim Butcher's sand box while he's not looking and hoping he doesn't catch me at it. ;) No copyright infringement is intended, I certainly am not hoping to profit by it (except for metaphorical pats on the head: I like those), please don't send mean lawyers after me. Or even nice lawyers.

*****

The problem with Black Court practitioners is that they've had a lot of time to practice their art. Okay, there's more than one problem —namely, that they're vampires, they're bloodthirsty and evil, among the first that spring to mind— but the problem that was foremost in my mind as I squared off against Bernard de Rome, was that he was a whole lot older and more experienced than I was, and I was likely to get my butt very solidly kicked.

I supposed that I ought to consider myself lucky that his flunkies had all fled once I fragged a significant portion of the machinery in the abandoned warehouse. That's the great thing about abandoned warehouses: they're full of expendable metal stuff that melts in spectacular ways. Great for demoralizing the enemy when your own wizardry is more about sheer unadulterated force than about subtlety. Unfortunately, luck can only carry you so far, and now that I was faced with a wizard who was probably my equal if not my superior in both experience and strength of magic, I wasn't feeling nearly as sanguine as when I'd gone charging in earlier. Good job, Harry, way to use your head. Planning has never exactly been my forte, and this time I'd had the spectacular good sense to go in without any backup. Yeah, not my most shining moment. If de Rome's little coterie had taken half a minute to think about it, they would have realized that they outnumbered me about ten to one, and then I would really have been in trouble.

I threw myself to one side as the vampire summoned up a stream of fire and sent it at the spot where my head would have been. I hit the concrete floor rolling, and a stab of pain shot through me as my shoulder protested vociferously against the rough treatment. I'm not as young as I used to be, all right? Momentum brought me to my knees, and I pulled out my blasting rod.

"_Forzare_!"

The energy ripped through me and through the tip of the rod, but de Rome twisted out of the way of my clumsy attempt with something akin to feline grace, although most cats wouldn't thank me for the comparison, and sneered at the rather large hole I made in the wall behind him.

"Give up, wizard," he spat, the French accent sounding a little incongruous in the middle of the Chicago night. "You are outmatched. Soon the members of my circle will return, and we will crush you underfoot."

I rolled my eyes. "You bad guys. So melodramatic. You can never resist an opportunity to monologue. What is up with that?" I brought my staff to bear on him this time. I had run out of tricks in my fun bag-o'-vampire slaying tools, and had been reduced to throwing fire and energy around. He'd resisted all my attempts to throw garlic, holy water, and various holy symbols at him, which was already pretty damned impressive. Really, those were the only reason that he hadn't killed me outright and had himself been reduced to using magic against me.

"_Fuego_!"

Flames burst from my staff, and this time de Rome's dodge looked a little more desperate to me. I was about to be heartened by this when the wooden scaffolding behind him caught fire. Damn. I ducked as he sent a bolt of electricity flying at me, and retaliated with more flame. I was beginning to think I might get out of this mess alive after all, when a burst of energy caught me square in the chest, lifted me off my feet, and flung me against the far wall. My head connected with the concrete with a resounding _crack_! and suddenly all I could see were stars. My leg throbbed with sudden pain as I fell awkwardly, and couldn't quite get my feet under me. By the time my vision cleared, de Rome was standing triumphantly, waiting to deliver the final blow. My staff was long gone, as was my rod, and I knew I'd be too slow to bring my shield up to ward off whatever he was going to throw at me. By the look on his face, de Rome knew it too.

"Say your prayers, wizard," he snarled, and raised both his hands in an evocation that looked fit to rip me apart where I lay.

Occasionally, I am given to wonder whether or not someone up there really is listening to my frantic prayers not to die. The wooden scaffolding collapsed under its own weight. Okay, so maybe it had been weakened by the fire I had set to it a few moments earlier. Maybe. I claim no responsibility. It came crashing down on de Rome, who let out an ear-piercing shriek as his body was consumed by flames. I pushed myself to my feet, knowing that in a few moments the whole place would be coming down around my ears (I could just hear Murphy's incredulous voice: "Another building, Dresden?"), and I had to make sure the job was done before I got out myself. I staggered toward the burning, shrieking vampire, levelling my staff, but I could tell that it would only be a formality. In another moment, de Rome would be consumed by flames. I hesitated, and in that moment de Rome caught my gaze with his and kept it, his eyes glittering with pain-induced madness. I felt energy crackling all around me, so strongly that it made the fire appear to dim for a few seconds. Then a voice boomed, echoing all around me, so loud that I could feel it in my sternum:

"SICKEN AND DIE!"

That's when the rest of the scaffolding came down on my head.

*****

Uh, so that's the first bit. I have more written (though it's not finished), but if people hate it or something, y'know, I won't put up the rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, so I decided to go ahead and post the second chapter, just in case. I'm always a fan of feedback, so please feel free to write a word here or there to let me know if you like it or if it needs tweaking, or if it needs a complete re-write.

It occurs to me also that there are spoilers in here for anything past Blood Rites. I assume most people have read past that, but if you haven't, consider yourself warned.

*****

My former girlfriend Susan, investigative reporter extraordinaire, has protected me in more ways than one from vampires, although she didn't realize she was doing it at the time. Apart from her love, which has kept me literally safe as well as figuratively, she also gave me my leather duster. She intended it as a fashion accessory, to replace the ratty old thing I used to wear, which belonged more on the set of "True Grit" than in modern-day Chicago, or so people told me. It's a really nice leather duster, and I worked on it for a long time, building up wards and protective spells and basically turning it into the mystical equivalent of kevlar. Even though Susan and I parted ways years ago now, the duster has served to protect me on more occasions than I care to count, both from bullets and whatever else the bad guys have cared to throw at me. So when the scaffolding collapsed, I pulled myself into as tight a ball as I could manage, and the duster took the brunt of the blows. I took a fair beating myself, but I counted myself lucky that I was getting out of it with only a few extra cuts and contusions. All in all, I'd fared worse in the encounter with de Rome.

Coughing and choking on the thick smoke, I crawled out of the building on my hands and knees. I stayed on all fours outside, coughing the smoke out of my lungs, even though it sent fresh stabs of pain through my skull. My leg was screaming in pain, and for a few moments I thought I might not be able to get to my feet at all, let alone get to my car. I did manage to get up, though, even though every movement sent fresh shooting pains all through my body. I limped to the Blue Beetle, the multi-coloured Volkswagen that no longer quite lived up to its name after my genius mechanic had replaced most of it with parts salvaged from other cars. Cars and most technology doesn't last very long around wizards —all that magic flying around tends to make anything made after World War II short-circuit in short order— but so far the Blue Beetle had survived everything I'd thrown at her. I sank into the driver's seat and leaned against the headrest for a moment, closing my eyes. I felt terrible, but I'd had worse. I put the car into gear, slowly, favouring my injured leg as much as I could while still driving a stick shift, and got the hell out of Dodge.

By the time I got home, the sun was well on its way to rising, turning the morning sky pink and purple. My head was throbbing in time with my pulse, and all I wanted now was to find my bed and sleep for the next week. I leaned heavily on the stair railing to my apartment, disabled the wards on my door, and shoved it open by leaning on it as heavily as I could. I'd managed mostly to fix the kinks in the door that made it nearly impossible to open before, but only mostly. Mister, my thirty-pound grey cat, came forward and gave me a friendly shoulder-block by way of greeting, which very nearly cost me what little balance I had left. I sagged against the wall, then leaned down to scritch Mister behind the ears. He purred, then leaped onto his favourite spot on top of the bookcase, while Mouse came over to take his turn greeting me. Mouse is a temple dog, and he resembles not so much a dog as an undersized elephant, but he's all shaggy coat and doggy grin, so there's no doubt as to his nature. At least he didn't try to knock me over, but simply sat and waited for me to pat him. As I struggled out of my coat, a voice filtered through from my kitchen.

"Uh, Harry? Is that you?"

I'd forgotten about Molly. I'd known Molly Carpenter —daughter of my good friend Michael and his wife, Charity— since she was a gawky little girl in pigtails. She was neither of those things now. Now she was a young woman with a serious talent for magic, and the discipline problems to go with it. She'd taken a wrong turn when she was just coming into her powers, and had broken the Laws of Magic. Rather than sentence her to death, the usual penalty for such a crime, the White Council had seen fit (after a great deal of persuading) to put her under my care. So now she was my apprentice, and I had completely forgotten that she had been in my basement, practising a basic ritual for most of the night, much to her mother's disapproval. Now she came padding out of the kitchen, dressed in a white robe and in her bare feet (ritual cleansing and all that, I won't bore you with the details), her pink hair brushing against her shoulders. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

"Oh my God, what happened?"

I tried to wave her off, but it turned out that having her help me to the sofa was a really good idea, otherwise I'd have fallen flat on my face. "Black Court vampire," I said succinctly. "Kicked my ass, but I kicked back, and I'm pretty sure I won."

She eyed me doubtfully. "Whatever you say. I'll get you some ice."

Sometimes it's great to have an apprentice. This was one of those times. She brought me an ice pack and a first aid kit, and unceremoniously tipped my head forward to examine the damage. Okay, sometimes having an apprentice also kind of has drawbacks. "Ow! Careful, please," I flinched away, but she clapped a firm hand on my shoulder.

"Quit squirming and let me help. You really did a number on yourself: you've split your skull open. I'm going to have to clean that and stitch it."

My stomach kind of did a flip-flop at that. Now, I'm not exactly a slouch, and I'm not a stranger to pain, but being knocked around by unspeakable horrors is one thing, but sitting there while someone, no matter how well-meaning, sticks a needle into your scalp, is a whole other kettle of fish. Then, to make matters worse, Molly moved around in front of me and shone a small flashlight directly into my eyes. I blinked and jerked away, and she clucked her tongue at me in a way that reminded me a lot of her mother, and sternly told me to look at her directly while she did it again. I grumbled something about matriarchal oppression, then did what I was told.

"Definitely a concussion," she diagnosed, wrinkling her nose at me. "Your pupils are all out of whack."

"Is that the clinical definition?"

She snorted, and there ensued a very uncomfortable few minutes while she disinfected and stitched my scalp back up, then wrapped my head in a few more layers of bandage than I thought were strictly necessary. I may have used a few words that weren't entirely suitable for the ears of an innocent young lady, but since Molly hadn't exactly been innocent for a few years now (no, not like that! What do you take me for?), I didn't worry about it too much. When she was done with the head injury she helped me bind up my bad leg, gave me a couple of ice packs, and bundled me unceremoniously to my bed. She pulled off my shoes, but removing the rest of my clothes was more than either of us was comfortable doing, and so I ended up lying down fully-clothed. I can't say I protested too hard: I was exhausted after throwing around that much magic, and there wasn't a single part of my body that didn't hurt. Lying on my back hurt my head, so I shifted onto my side and draped my arm over my eyes so the light wouldn't hurt them as much.

"I have to go home," she said. "Mom and Dad need someone to watch the sproglets while they're running errands, and I want to get at least a bit of sleep before that happens. I want you to call Thomas or Lieutenant Murphy to come check on you later, so that you don't slip into a coma and die or something, okay?"

I mumbled something I hoped sounded coherent, and after a moment's hesitation she slipped from the room. I heard the door scrape shut, and then things went dark. The next thing I knew I was awake, and a tiny amount of light was filtering in through the bedroom window. I live in a basement apartment, but a small part of it is above ground, just enough so that I get some daylight during waking hours. I squinted against the thin beam of sunlight, and suddenly my stomach revolted at the idea of having anything at all in it. I tumbled from my bed, and the jolt of pain in my leg nearly made me sick right there. I managed to stumble into the bathroom and collapsed on the cool tile, and made it to the toilet just in time to lose what little was left of last night's dinner. My head screamed in agony at the added pressure, and I found myself hanging onto the bowl for balance, retching miserably. I hate concussions.

"Harry? You okay?"

I didn't have the energy to be startled, but I hadn't even heard my brother Thomas come in. My stomach was empty by then, but you could have fooled me by the way it still tried to come climbing out my throat. I sensed rather than saw Thomas crouch down next to me, and he placed a cool hand on my shoulder while I dry-heaved. Finally I managed to stop long enough to draw a shaky breath, and he grabbed my arm to help me to my feet. I didn't quite manage to bite back a groan of pain as he did, and he wrapped his arm around my waist. He hauled me to the sink so I could rinse out my mouth, to my profound gratitude, and then helped me back to bed.

"What did you do this time?" he demanded, keeping his tone gentle, all things considered. "Molly called and said something about you going up alone against a Black Court vampire?"

"It would have been fine," I muttered darkly, putting my arm back over my eyes. It was really a pretty comfy position. "if only he hadn't been able to cast spells, too. Practitioners. They never play fair."

He took an ice pack from the night stand near my bed, and pressed it gently to my head. "You're an idiot. Hold that there. I won't ask what you were thinking, because I'm pretty sure thought didn't enter into the equation. How badly are you hurt?"

"I've had worse. Sprained my knee, I think, or maybe did something to the ligaments, I'm not sure. Hurts like hell. Molly thinks I have a concussion."

Thomas snorted. "From the amount of puking you've just done, I think she's right. You look like hell, but you've looked like hell before, so I guess it's nothing a little rest and a lot of ice won't cure."

I tried to nod, but the movement sent stabbing pains in my skull, and I whimpered —a bit pathetic, granted, but then the back of my skull was broken, so I think I can be cut a little slack. Thomas patted my shoulder. "Okay, Harry. I'll be in the next room if you need anything. Rest up, and try not to go into a coma, all right?"

Hell's bells. What is it with people and comas?

I drifted in and out of sleep most of the day, shaken awake every so often by Thomas, who ignored my carefully-chosen curses and invective and pleas to be left alone. Yeah, yeah, I know: concussion, coma, all that. It still doesn't make being awoken any more fun. I felt better by the time mid-afternoon rolled around, enough that I hauled my sorry and very sore self out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom first to brush my teeth, dry-swallowed more than the recommended dose of Aspirin, and then hobbled to the kitchen in search of something to drink.

"Should you be up?" Thomas asked dubiously as I shuffled painfully into the living room and let myself sink onto the sofa with a Coke.

I took a sip of Coke, and reached up gingerly to probe at the white bandages on my head. I had no idea what I looked like —not keeping any mirrors in the place will do that— but I winced as my fingers encountered a tender spot on my skull, and I suspected I probably didn't look fresh as a rose. I shrugged.

"I'm awake, anyway, and I have some research to do. Better than lying in bed thinking about things."

"I guess." Thomas sounded dubious. "You really don't look good. Maybe you ought to put off your research until you don't seem like you're going to keel over."

I shook my head, then immediately regretted it. "Nah, it's fine. It's actual research, not messing around with spells, and it'll keep my mind off things. Shouldn't you be at work, anyway?"

He looked a bit guilty. "I told them I'd be in late because of a family emergency."

I frowned. Thomas' work wasn't just important to him because of the money. Thomas, apart from being my half-brother, is also a vampire of the White Court. Unlike the Black Court or the Red Court variety, the White Court vampires feed off emotions, the stronger the better. While Thomas had been trying to walk the straight and narrow for years now, he used his job at a hair salon to feed superficially from the willing clients, and not doing so meant he ran the very real risk of becoming too hungry to control his impulses, and that's when people started dying.

"You've missed more than half your day of work."

"It's okay, Harry. I've got it covered."

"No, it's not okay. I don't want you... missing work... because of me," I managed awkwardly. "I'm all right. I'm awake, I'm not in a coma, I'm feeling much better, and you need to get back to work. I have your number if I need anything," I held up a hand to forestall any objections.

Thomas conceded defeat. "Fine. But I want you to call if you feel any worse, or if you need anything. Michael said the same thing to me earlier, so if you can't get hold of me, call his house."

I was going to do nothing of the kind, but I nodded my agreement just so Thomas would get back to his life. I wasn't going to be responsible for his losing control, and I think he knew it. After a moment he gave me another doubtful look, then picked up his keys and headed out. I sat on the sofa for a while longer, and Mouse came and shoved his head between my legs, demanding pats. I fondled his ears, and he chuffed happily at me, tail thumping against the carpeted floor. For all my big talk, I wasn't feeling all that hot, and the prospect of spending several hours doing research was making my head ache just thinking about it. Mouse nosed curiously at my hand and whined, and I scratched his ears reassuringly. I considered taking a shower, but I was already feeling cold, and the idea of a cold shower on top of that was highly unpleasant. I pulled on an extra sweater under my robe instead, and inched my way down the ladder to my basement workshop.

*****

So... thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

So here's part 3. Still no spoilers, although the plot is thickening, I think. I may have accidentally written myself into a corner, but that's not for a while yet, so with any luck I will have managed to find a way out before I get to that point in the story when I post it. :)

I think, too, that this installment may answer some of the questions and issues raised in previous comments about holy symbols and the like. After all, Black Court vampires who've managed to survive post-Stoker must have become a little more wily and hard to kill, right?

*****

My workshop has come a long way over the years. There are tables installed on three sides in the shape of a "U," as well as a large centre table where I do most of my work. One of the side tables serves as a work bench for Molly, where she does most of her homework and research under my watchful eye. The walls are covered with shelves and wire baskets that hold all the knick-knacks and material components needed to work magic, except for one wooden shelf that's entirely bare except for a skull, two half-melted candles, and a romance novel. The crowning glory of my workshop, however, is my to-scale model of the city, which I've named Little Chicago. It took me months of painstaking work to get every single detail right and to collect materials from all over the city to imbue it with power, but now it's an actual working model of Chicago, which I use in my searching spells (among other things —there are more creative ways in which I've used it, but that's a story for another day). Finding things is one of my specialties, and when I got tangled up with faeries and vampires and other things that go bump in the night, I decided that I needed a little extra something to give me a leg up.

Little Chicago wasn't the reason I was down here tonight, though. It takes a lot of mental preparation and energy to cast spells using Little Chicago as a focus, and I had neither. No, like I had promised Thomas, tonight was straight-up research only. The little grey cells, as Hercule Poirot would say. I paused at the foot of the ladder to catch my breath, then, using the table for support, I shuffled to a stool and perched on it. Then I reached over and tapped the skull with the tip of my finger.

"Wake up, Bob, there's work to do."

Two spots of orange light appeared in the eye sockets of the skull, flickered, and grew brighter, like tiny flames. Bob-the-Skull isn't actually a skull, though that's the name I gave him when I got him. He's more of a dis-incarnated spirit of intellect who acts as a sort of living encyclopedia and advisor for me. He's served as an assistant to wizards for centuries, and there are few beings out there who can rival him for the amount of knowledge he possesses. Off-hand, I can think of only one, who happens to be a six-year-old girl. Long story. But calling him a spirit of intellect and knowledge is a bit of a mouthful: it's quicker to call him "Bob," so I do.

"What's up, boss?" Bob asked cheerfully. Then the orange lights flickered a bit. "You don't look good, Harry. What's wrong?"

"I'm a little tired of people asking me what's wrong. I just got banged up a bit by a vampire. Nothing that hasn't happened before." I shivered, though, which put the lie to my words. I couldn't figure out what was going on —being cold was never part of the deal with getting beaten about the head. Maybe I was coming down with something. I don't get sick often, but even wizards sometimes get colds.

"Sure, Harry, whatever you say." Bob is a spirit who lives in a skull, and it always surprises me that he can roll his eyes so effectively when he has none to speak of. "What kind of vampire?"

"Black Court."

"Did he have company?"

"Yeah, but they rabbited when I got there."

"So how come you're all chewed up? Didn't you have a holy symbol? Garlic? Holy water? Sunshine in your pocket?"

I growled at him. "Yes, I had all of that. Well, all of it except the sunshine." I haven't been able to keep sunshine around for a while. Turns out that in order to catch it and keep it, the way I used to, you actually have to be happy, and while my life isn't bad, 'happy' isn't exactly the first word I'd use to describe myself. "It would have gone just fine if he wasn't able to cast spells as well."

Bob whistled, another impressive feat since he doesn't have lips. "So... he got away?"

I shook my head, ignoring the increased throbbing. "No. Burned to death under some scaffolding. I may have been a little indiscriminate with my spell-slinging at the end there."

"Oh. Uh, good." Bob was obviously hesitating over something.

"Spit it out, Bob."

"Uh, well, I don't really know how to ask this delicately, Harry, but... what about his death curse?"

I blinked. There had been so much confusion there at the end, what with the burning and the screaming, but I distinctly remembered the sensation of gathering energy. "I think he tried, but I don't remember it working. I think maybe he missed."

"Uh."

"What?" I was getting really aggravated by now.

Bob sniffed. "Well, if you're going to be like that..."

"Cut Concussion Guy some slack, here, Bob. What is it?"

"Death Curses don't usually miss."

I sighed. "This one was too ambitious to work. He basically ordered me to die."

"Oh. Well, that is pretty ambitious. Too much energy needed for that, even if it's a death curse. No reason it couldn't work some minor mischief, though."

"All the more reason I'd need your help, then, so I can ward against it. I need you to tell me everything you know about vampire wizards, or practitioners of magic."

"Geez, Harry, could you vague that up a little?"

I bit back a groan. "Come on, Bob. What sort of threat could I be facing?"

"Fine. But I want another novel. A new one."

"Sure. The newest one on the shelves. One with a glossy cover and embossed lettering. Promise." Bob was an addict of romance novels. No, I don't know why, but he's pretty lecherous for an incorporeal being. "Now, start with how they organize themselves."

"Well, as long as your undead guy is, uh, properly dead, then it's going to take a little bit of time for his coven to regroup."

"Coven?"

"Coven, circle, coterie, whatever. There's no actual word for it. Usually when a vampire decides to start in the arts, he doesn't like to give up his loyal following. So he finds himself a bunch of lower-level practitioners, turns them, and then keeps them in thrall. So whenever you're going up against him, you're also going up against the whole coven."

"They didn't seem all that loyal last night," I muttered, resting my head in my hand, and propping myself up on my elbows on the work table in front of me.

"Yeah, well, loyalty ain't what it used to be. Besides, you've got a hell of a reputation now, Harry, and you come charging in there with stakes and garlic and holy water and throwing fire around, I'm not really surprised the lower ranks broke. Don't let that go to your head, though, sport. Once they figure themselves out, they'll start making mischief. What did you say this vampire's name was?"

"De Rome."

Bob's eyes flickered a little bit as he thought. "Yeah, I remember him. Nasty customer. You can bet he'll have a second-in-command somewhere who's scrambling to get things together now. Probably Lambert." He pronounced it "Lahwm-behr."

"Please tell me his name isn't 'Lambert,'" I pleaded. The last thing I needed was Sheepish Lion jokes crowding my mind when I ought to be focussing on the important stuff.

"I don't make these things up, Harry. Besides, just because his name sounds funny to you, doesn't mean he's not a threat. I figure you've got maybe two or three days tops before Lambert gets his act together, and starts making trouble. Did you figure out what their goal was?"

"No. Mostly I was hoping to just go in, take them out, and not really have to worry about their goal if they were all dust."

Bob made a disgusted sound. "Harry, how long have you been doing this?"

I put up a hand in a placating gesture. "Okay, okay, I screwed up. I'll look into it some more, first thing, I promise. I counted about six or seven flunkies, and your guy Lambert was probably lurking somewhere he couldn't be seen."

"Right. So unless there's another vampire with similar powers, he won't have to make much of a bid to take over leadership. If my memory serves me —and it does— he's a lot younger than de Rome, but about as powerful, and probably more inventive because he's not crippled by being unable to think in modern terms."

Bob kept talking about hierarchies and access to magical training and apprenticeships until my head was spinning. That's the problem with Bob: he doesn't get tired, unless he's out of his skull. When that happens, he starts running out of energy, and even the most incidental sunlight can hurt or destroy him, which is why when he does go out he usually borrows Mister's body. I, on the other, hand, was damned tired, my head was pounding mercilessly, and I was wishing I'd put on an extra sweater, on top of the one I was already wearing. Eventually, though, he rambled to a stop. "Harry, are you even listening anymore?"

I pulled myself up with an effort. "Yeah, sorry Bob. Thanks for the 411, but I don't think I can focus anymore. I'm going to turn in."

Bob's voice was quiet, worried. "Harry, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired. Goodnight, Bob."

"G'night, Harry."

*****

And that's that! Hope you enjoy it.


	4. Chapter 4

So here's chapter 4. Not too long on plot, unfortunately, but I'm hoping people will be forgiving. :)

*****

The idea of sleeping in my clothes again was too gross to contemplate, even though I was so exhausted I was highly tempted to do just that. I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, then slid back under the covers and pulled the blankets tightly around me, shivering. Something was definitely wrong, but my thoughts were whirling in my mind in a confused jumble of words and images and voices, and I couldn't concentrate long enough to figure out what it was. All I knew was that I felt terrible, and all I wanted now was to lie under my blankets until I was warm again. Mouse jumped up onto the bed next to me, chuffing softly with concern, and I was too tired to shove him off, even though he always takes up far too much space. He's a big dog, and my bed isn't all that spacious. He was warm, though, and it felt good to feel the heat radiate off him. I curled up into a tighter ball, and eventually, my eyes closed, and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

It felt like only a few minutes had passed when I awoke again, this time shoving the blankets aside, my mouth so dry I felt as though I might choke. Water was the answer to that particular problem. I couldn't remember turning on the heat; since the furnace and I don't usually get along I try to avoid that as much as possible, but it was so damned hot in the place that I must have done it while I was still feeling chilled. I sat up, swinging my legs off the bed, and waited for the room to stop rocking on its axis. My leg protested loudly as I got up, leaning on the bed, and I wondered briefly if I maybe hadn't injured it more badly than I first thought. Mouse jumped off the bed and came to stand behind me as I limped to the wall and leaned heavily on it while the room resumed rocking drunkenly back and forth. He whined and lay down at my feet.

"What?" I asked, my voice cracking. "I'm thirsty."

He whined again, making me wonder if he didn't have a point —if dogs can even make points. Then again, Mouse isn't exactly your average dog. I was torn between going back to bed, which seemed like a really good idea, and going for that drink of water, which seemed like an equally good idea if I didn't want my throat to swell shut.

The water won out over sleep. I could sleep after I'd had water. I inched forward, keeping my hand on the wall, and I even managed to negotiate the door jamb and get into the bathroom. That's when things really started to go wrong. Instead of rocking gently back and forth the way it had been up until now, the floor decided to tilt at a really crazy angle and hit me in the face. Luckily, after that it didn't spin around too badly, and it felt really nice and cool against my skin. That's the good thing about tile: it's almost always cold, no matter what the temperature of the room. Mouse got up, nails clicking on the tile, and nosed at me. I shoved weakly at him with one hand.

"Getoffame, Mouse. Just gimme a minute."

I closed my eyes, feeling the cold seep into my skin, and waited for everything to stand still. I was sure it would only take a minute or so...

The next thing I knew there was a hand on my shoulder, and a familiar voice was speaking to me. My brain fumbled to place it, even while my eyes refused to focus. "Harry, can you hear me?"

I made a feeble attempt to... I'm not sure what I was trying to do, frankly. I think it involved moving, or maybe speaking, but whatever it was, I failed spectacularly.

"He's conscious, anyway," the voice said, sounding relieved. "How long has he been like this?"

"I don't know," another voice, younger, anxious-sounding. Also someone I knew, but the wiring had gone all wrong in my head, and I couldn't make much sense of who was whom in all the muddle. "I heard Mouse bark, and when I came in he was like this. I called right away."

"Okay. Let's get him back to bed. Harry, we have to get you up off the floor. I need you to help me, all right? Give me your arm, that's it..."

I felt myself being propped up, and finally my eyes focussed and some of the fog cleared. "Michael?"

Michael Carpenter turned a grave expression on me, then smiled reassuringly. "You're awake, then. Good. Can you get up?"

I winced as he pulled me to my feet, and couldn't quite hold back a groan of pain as I tried to stand on my bad leg. "Ow..."

"Easy, Harry. I've got you. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

I think I might have made a half-hearted noise of protest —I still hadn't had that drink of water— but Michael either didn't understand me, or else chose to ignore me. I found myself back in bed in far less time than it had taken me to get out of bed in the first place, and my pillows had never felt more comfortable and welcoming in my whole life. Michael laid a callused hand against my forehead, and pursed his lips.

"You're burning up. What happened?"

"Just wanted water..." my voice cracked, but I did manage to get the words out. "Got dizzy. Dunno what happened." Like magic, Michael was holding a glass of water to my lips, propping me up so I could drink without making a mess of myself. I started coughing halfway through, though, so I ended up making a mess of myself anyway, which Michael patiently mopped up with his handkerchief.

"Molly said you'd been injured, but not that you were ill."

I leaned back and let my eyes close. "'M fine. Just got a bump on the head."

"It's obviously more than that, Harry. Bumps on the head don't give you fevers."

I opened my eyes, then immediately closed them again when the light from the bedside lamp threatened to sear my retinas. "Dunno what it is. Maybe it's the bird flu. Or swine flu, that's the latest big deal, isn't it? Or did they come up with another animal when I wasn't paying attention?" I grinned in spite of the throbbing pain in my head. Sometimes I crack me up.

I could feel Michael's disapproval radiating at me. "This isn't a joking matter. How long have you been feeling ill?"

I coughed again, while I was considering. "Not sure. A few hours, maybe? What time is it?"

"It's about ten pm."

"A few hours, then," I confirmed, hoping I hadn't lost a day or so in there. "It wasn't so bad before."

"He didn't look sick when I left," Molly said from the doorway, sounding defensive. "I wouldn't have gone, otherwise."

"'S'okay, Molly, you're not supposed to be responsible for me," I mumbled. "Other way 'round. Apprentice, master, all that."

"No one is blaming you, Molly."

"If he'd told me he was sick, I wouldn't have left him," she repeated. I risked opening my eyes again, long enough to see that she was leaning against the door frame, hugging her arms to her chest, looking guilty.

Michael pressed more water on me, forestalling what probably would have been an argument, and when I had managed a few more swallows I felt too tired to argue the point anyway. I could hear him and Molly talking in low voices, but it felt like too much of an effort to try and make out what they were saying, and I drifted back to sleep, if sleep it could be called.

I spent a lot of time tossing uncomfortably after that. It seemed that no matter what I did I was always either too hot or too cold, and there was an ever-present throb of pain in my head that made restful sleep all but impossible. Whenever I did manage more than a light doze, I was plagued with confusing dreams in which I wandered through twisting corridors, voices taunting me as I got increasingly lost in a maze of identical-looking walls. Dimly I was aware that someone was coming and going from my side, when I was awake enough to remember where I was, but I could never stay awake long enough to figure out who it was. Finally, the pain receded, and the dreams stopped.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry for the delay, folks, I was attempting to fix things in the narrative that were sort of broken, and I really hope it worked. Thanks for your patience!

*****

It was morning when I awoke. I could tell by the quality of the light in the room. Mouse was on the bed again, trying to look inconspicuous and failing. Molly was asleep in a chair by the bed, her head lolling to one side, her legs curled beneath her. It was kind of cute, really. She startled awake as soon as she hear me stir, which made me feel ridiculously guilty, as though I had just dumped a bucket of ice water down her neck instead of just shifting my weight.

"Harry, you're awake," she said, entirely unnecessarily, I thought. "How do you feel?"

I pushed myself up onto my elbows. "Anyone get the license plate on that vampire?" Molly didn't laugh. Teenagers. No sense of humour. "I think I'm okay. Kind of groggy." In truth, my head still hurt like anything, and my stomach felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, but saying that out loud didn't quite work with my tough-as-nails private eye image. Move over, Sam Steele.

"Mom said to tell you that you have to stay in bed. Dad went back home about half an hour ago, but Mom is going to come help once the sprogs have all had breakfast. She told me not to let you get up, if it meant I had to sit on you, so please don't try, okay?"

I growled something ungracious, but let myself sink back onto my pillow. Not that I didn't think Molly could keep me there, but the idea of facing an irate Charity Carpenter later on was more than I thought I could handle with my head already ringing like a kettle drum. Molly looked relieved, as though she'd been worried that she might actually have to sit on me in order to keep me in bed. The thought wasn't an encouraging one.

"You didn't spend all night in that chair, did you?" I asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Uh... do you want something to eat? I can make toast. I don't think you should have anything else for the moment. Uh... the water didn't really sit well last night," she said, flushing an uncomfortable shade of red and refusing to meet my eyes. Hell's bells, I didn't even want to think about what that meant. I'd already soul-gazed Molly, so that wasn't what she was trying to avoid. Whatever it was, it was probably embarrassing, and more for me than for her.

"I'm not hungry, but thanks."

She fidgeted in her chair for a moment. "Do you want some water?"

"No, I'm okay, really."

"All right. Uh... I'm going to, uh, go and work on my stuff or something for a while. Mom said she'd be here as soon as she could. Just call if you need anything, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." I waved vaguely with one hand. "Maybe you should get some sleep, too. Catch a nap on the sofa, or something."

"Uh-huh."

She retreated, leaving me to my thoughts, which weren't nearly as coherent as I would have liked. Mostly I just felt tired, and so my thoughts kept drifting into tangents as I tried to sort out just what was happening to me. Maybe it was the flu, after all. The timing could just be coincidence, and wasn't there some sort of scientific evidence that you were more likely to get sick if you were already injured? The fact that de Rome's death curse had been "sicken and die" didn't actually mean that... okay, yes it did, but a curse that strong would have taken a lot of magical juice to accomplish. You'd have to be a really powerful practitioner to... okay, I wasn't exactly making a great case for myself, but there was almost no way it could have worked.

A death curse causing actual death was so rare that I could think of maybe a handful of instances in which it had been used, and none of those had actually worked. In spite of the name, death curses usually toe a fine line between subtle and powerful. They can't be too subtle, because you only get a few seconds in which to utter them, and they're powerful because you're essentially using up all of what's left of your life force and hurling it at your opponent. Still, they have to be subtle, up to a point, because, well, magic just works that way. It doesn't like it when you try to bend the laws of the universe to suit your own whims. So usually it relies on coincidence, on chains of events, uses chinks in the victim's physical or psychological armour. My mother's death curse, for instance, had prevented the most powerful White Court vampire from ever being able to feed. It was an insanely powerful curse —from what I know, my mother was a force to be reckoned with— but she knew her limitations, and that's why she didn't try to smite him with a lightning bolt, for instance. So there was no reason for this death curse to have any effect, except for the fact that I appeared —entirely coincidentally, I was sure— to be sick.

Bob would know more. He'd agreed with me that there was no way the curse would have worked, hadn't he? If anyone or anything would know about what a death curse could and couldn't do, it would definitely be the lecherous spirit of intellect that lived in my basement. I decided to get up and go ask him, but it turned out that was a really bad idea, as my legs buckled under me and I had to clutch the night table to keep from falling over for the second time in as many days.

"Dresden, what do you think you're doing?"

Hell's bells. I hadn't heard Charity come in at all, but there she was, pushing me back onto the bed. Charity may look like the average housewife on the outside, but she's tall and strong, and has been sparring with her husband, the Knight of the Cross, for years to keep him in fighting trim. She's also given birth to five children. I didn't fancy crossing her, and I don't recommend it to anyone else.

"Uh, Charity. Hi. I was trying to get up? Wanted to look something up." At least I wasn't so fevered that I blurted the truth about Bob. That would take a lot more explaining than I was willing to do.

She snorted derisively. "Your research can wait until you're better. There is no reason for all of us to wear ourselves out looking after you if you're going to sabotage your recovery, do I make myself clear?"

Charity started out by hating me when we first met, although she put up with my presence as long as Michael asked her to. Over time that hate thawed into a tolerance once she realized I wasn't purposefully trying to get her husband killed, but my presence was a source of constant worry for her. As far as she was concerned, one day her husband and I would go up against something big and bad, and her husband would never come home, and she lived in mortal terror of that day. Not that I can blame her. We've reached a sort of _détente_ in our relationship, especially since I spared her daughter from being executed by the White Council, but I don't think she's my number one fan by any means.

"Hadn't thought of it that way," I said, hoping I sounded repentant enough for her.

"That's the problem with you, Dresden. Thought so rarely enters into the equation with you."

"You know, you're the second person to say that to me in two days."

She rolled her eyes, then tucked me back into bed with the ease of years of practice. "You're lucky that Molly insisted on coming back to check on you. Otherwise you might have lain on the floor the whole night. The people in your building complained about the dog, but I don't think they'll make an issue of it, since he's never barked otherwise."

I was only partly listening to the soft stream of words by then. Getting tucked in was kind of nice, actually. I hadn't had anyone tuck me into bed since... well, since my father died when I was a boy. Funny how when you're sick these things start to matter again. I was trying to remember exactly the last time he'd done it, when her voice broke through my thoughts.

"Dresden, are you still with me?"

It took an effort to wrench my thoughts back on track. "Yeah, sorry."

Charity gave me a disapproving look, then felt my forehead. Her fingers were soft and felt ice-cold, a welcome sensation against my burning skin, although I wouldn't have said so for a million dollars. "Your fever's still too high for my liking. I want you to take these," she held some pills to my lips, which I obediently swallowed with a mouthful of water. "It's just Advil," she added, seeing my expression. "I want to bring your fever down."

"Thank you."

She made an odd sound in the back of her throat, as though thanks were the last thing she had been expecting, then abruptly turned on her heel and left the room. I thought she'd gone to see to Molly, but a few minutes later she reappeared in my room, this time with a still-steaming bowl of chicken soup. Don't look at me like that, I _do_ have a stove in my place, it's just a gas stove instead of electric. I don't just survive on pizza and Coke. No, really. I swear. She sat in the chair next to my bed and gave me another of her patented doubtful looks while holding the bowl of soup for me.

"Can you manage?"

I nodded, then gingerly took the bowl from her. I really wasn't hungry, but it felt good sliding down my throat and was easier to swallow than the cold water. I tried to put the bowl down after a few mouthfuls when my stomach threatened to stage a revolt, and Charity quickly took it from me as it threatened to tip in my hands and scald me.

"You'll have to do better than that next time. You have to eat something, or you won't have any strength to get better."

I let my eyes close. "I know. I couldn't keep it down right now. Later, I promise."

"All right," her voice was surprisingly gentle. "Get some sleep, Dresden.

*****


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for all the nice reviews, folks! You warm a gal's heart. :) I'm still working out some kinks in my plot (always my weakness when writing), but with any luck by the time I get there in the text it will all come together. For now I've still got a bit of a buffer, which I'm proofreading before posting, so hopefully there won't be *too* many typos and instances of horrific syntax.

*****

Being sick is boring, let me tell you. Basically I spent a lot of time lying around doing nothing but feel like death warmed over and stomped on by a rabid wildebeest for good measure. I spent most of the day like that, drifting in and out of sleep, fighting off a headache that never seemed entirely to go away, unable to focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. To say it was frustrating would be putting it mildly: I couldn't read, and it's not like I can keep a television that works in my place. Electronics and wizards emphatically don't mix. Mouse kept me company for most of the day, but he wasn't exactly the world's greatest conversationalist. Not that I was much good at it myself today. Feeling sick and bored at the same time did nothing for my temper, and I may have been a little short with Michael and Molly, who'd been taking turns coming in to check on me and keep me company. Michael was unfailingly patient with me, but his daughter was less forgiving.

"Quit being such a grouch," she scowled at me after I'd growled at her for the third time as she tried to get me to accept some dry toast in the afternoon. I'd awoken from an uneasy doze to find her at my bedside with a plate and a side order of stubborn. "I am _trying_ to help, here, and you're biting the hand that's feeding you toast."

"'M not being a grouch, I just want you to stop fussing."

"Don't make me argue with a sick man, Harry, because I will. Have some toast, _please_."

My stomach lurched at the idea of toast. Or any kind of food. "I can't. Would you stop trying to feed me?"

"You need to eat. You haven't had anything except a couple of mouthfuls of soup since you got back yesterday morning, and I bet you anything you didn't eat before then, either. Besides, you threw it all up."

"I'm not hungry."

"Tough."

"Molly, give it a rest," I snapped. Her face crumpled, and I immediately felt guilty. Way to go, champ, be nasty to your apprentice when she's taking care of you. Real smooth. "Stars and stones, Molly... look, I didn't mean..."

"It's fine. You don't want toast, you don't want toast. It's fine. I'll go throw it out." She glared at me, eyes brimming, then stalked through the door. I heard a fair bit of banging in the kitchen, and guessed that she was throwing out the toast with a lot more vigour than was strictly necessary. I felt like the world's biggest heel, but I couldn't exactly apologize.

I lay back on the bed, and closed my eyes. My head was throbbing worse than ever, and on top of my stomach threatening some sort of military coup, it felt as though someone was tightening a vice around my chest. I coughed, trying to clear my lungs, and it turned into a fit, which let me tell you did nothing to make my head feel better. I opened my eyes again when I felt a hand on my shoulder, to see Michael holding a glass of water near my head.

"Tell your daughter I'm sorry I was mean?" I said, once I'd drunk enough to satisfy him.

Michael gave me a rueful smile. "You can tell her yourself, once she's calm enough to come back and talk to you. That cough sounds pretty painful. How are you feeling?"

In my not-especially-long career as a professional wizard, I have learned that it's useless to lie to Michael. Well, not useless, but ultimately unproductive. He has a way of getting to the truth, no matter what. I attribute it to his profession as a Knight of the Cross. Having God in your corner kind of gives you an edge. The Almighty and I have an understanding: I keep out of his way, and he doesn't smite me. That being said, Michael's my friend, and I don't like to lie to him unless I absolutely have to.

"I feel like crap, actually."

Michael pursed his lips and placed his hand on my forehead. It was the same gesture Charity had used earlier —must come with the territory when you're a parent. "Your fever's worse than before." He took a thermometer from the bedside table, the old-fashioned kind with mercury. The newer ones that beep don't last a minute around me.

"Come on, Michael, that isn't necessary."

He smiled patiently. "Humour me." He slid the thermometer into my mouth and sat next to the bed. "Besides, now you can't talk for three entire minutes, which could well be a first for you."

It was a low-down, dirty trick, and I let him know by glaring at him with all my might. Unfortunately, he remained unfazed. For a while he just sat there, watching me, until I squirmed under his gaze, and he looked away with a small smile. He broke the silence after another minute.

"Harry, I have to be honest with you, I don't like how sick you are." He removed the thermometer and held it up to the light, twisting it to see how high the mercury had risen. "A fever like this, it's not normal. It's gone up since this morning, too. I don't like to leave you alone until it's broken completely."

I swore under my breath. Somewhere at the back of my mind I had known that it was a Sunday, and that Michael would have to go to work the next day, and Molly would have to go to school, but it had registered only dimly, nagging at me like an ache in a spot you can't quite reach. I didn't think it was possible to feel more guilty about imposing on the Carpenters, but apparently it was.

"I'll be okay, Michael. All I need is some sleep, I promise. It's just the flu. I bet I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Huh." Michael gave me a sceptical look. "Look, you can always talk until you're blue in the face, but I'm still not leaving you alone."

I opened my mouth to argue, and started coughing instead. He propped me up with a strong arm, and after a minute I was able to draw a ragged breath. By then, all thoughts of arguing with him had fled my mind. "Thanks."

He patted my shoulder and got up. "Try to get some sleep, all right?"

I nodded, closing my eyes, but I couldn't get to sleep after that. I was uncomfortable, my head hurt, and my throat was raw from coughing so hard. I lay half-awake, patting Mouse, who had given up his pretence of sleeping at the foot of my bed and was now lying pressed up against me. I was pretty sure there was something important I was forgetting, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to concentrate when your head aches. In a lot of ways, being sick was worse than all the other injuries I'd had before, including the burn on my left hand a couple of years before which had all but melted away the flesh on it and rendered it all but useless. At least then I knew what I was dealing with, but this... this was constant uncertainty. My whole body was betraying me, and I felt oddly offended by it. Okay, maybe I have some control issues.

Later Molly crept in, then stopped trying to tiptoe when she saw I was awake. She bit her lip, and I decided that the ball was in my court.

"I'm sorry I snapped."

She flushed. "It's okay. You're the one who's sick. I should be more patient."

I chuckled in spite of myself. "Okay, we're both sorry. I'm putting a stop to this conversation before it turns into an after-school special."

She laughed, looking so relieved that I felt yet another pang of guilt. "So we're cool?"

"We're cool, grasshopper."

"Okay, I'll let you sleep, then."

*****


	7. Chapter 7

Good morning! Spurred on by the pain in my stupid strained shoulder, I stayed up and worked on this rather than sleeping. Bah. My pain is your gain, dear readers. ;)

I hope you enjoy this next installment.

*****

I was feeling both better and worse by the time night started to fall. Better, in that I was more alert than before, and worse, in that, well, I felt like I had taken the worst beating of my life. I'd started shivering again sometime in the evening, and no matter how many blankets Molly piled on me, and no matter how hard Mouse pressed up against me, I felt as though I'd never get warm again. I didn't hear Molly say anything to Michael, but I could tell they were worried. I couldn't think of anything to say to reassure them, either. If I hadn't felt so out of it, I might have been worried myself.

The last few rays of sunlight were vanishing below the horizon (or, at least, below where they could filter in through the half-window in my room) when I heard a different set of footsteps in the house, and Michael greeting someone in low tones. Molly poked her head around the door.

"Uh, Harry? Dad and I have to take off. We have to get the kidlets fed and bathed and put to bed, and Mom will have a fit if we don't get back in time to help." I nodded, as though I had no idea that Molly actually enjoyed the routine of taking care of her younger siblings, and that I took all her bitching and moaning about how unfair her mother was and what a chore it was seriously.

"Right. Drive safe."

She rolled her eyes. "Dad's driving. If you look in the dictionary under 'safe' there's a picture of him."

"Fair enough."

"See you tomorrow after school. Take care, okay?" she looked as though she was about to say something else, then thought better of it and left.

Michael made his goodbyes quickly, obviously anxious to be home. A few minutes later my brother came in, looking even better than the day before. Then again, Thomas always manages to look as though he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad, so I guess that's not saying much. He gave me the same worried look I'd seen on everyone's faces lately, and leaned over to brush the hair away from my face. Given that his body temperature is always lower than average, I tried not to worry that it felt as though he'd brushed ice cubes against my skin.

"Michael tells me you're pretty sick, bro. Why didn't you tell me when I was here? I would have stayed."

It was precisely because of that that I wouldn't have told him, but at least this time I could tell him the truth. "Wasn't feeling sick then. Just concussed."

"Well, you're not getting rid of me so easily this time. Michael and Charity have to stay with their kids, and Molly's got school tomorrow, so you're stuck with me for the night."

I managed to raise an eyebrow in mock-concern. "Damn. Now the neighbours will talk."

He laughed. "If you're well enough to wisecrack, then I think you'll be just fine."

I grinned, then coughed and pulled the blankets closer. "Do I get a bell? I hear invalids get a bell to summon people."

"No bell."

"Aww, you're no fun."

"I can't trust you not to abuse it."

"Not without the neighbours _really_ talking," I agreed. I could feel myself starting to fade, suddenly exhausted. "Did someone feed Mouse and Mister?"

"Yes, although I think Mister decided he'd rather hunt for his own food tonight. Something tells me he wasn't too thrilled at all the comings and goings today." He reached over to where Mouse was lying on the bed, having renewed his unsuccessful attempt to be small and inconspicuous, and gave him a friendly pat. "There's food in your dish, buddy. How about I take you for a walk? Molly tells me you've been here all day. Even a temple dog can't hold it forever.

Mouse whined and looked at me. I gave his head a pat. "It's okay, buddy. You go ahead. It's not like I'm going anywhere." He gave a disapproving huff, but reluctantly jumped to the floor and allowed Thomas to clip his leash to his collar. The leash was a formality: Mouse could have broken away from me at any time of his choosing, but municipal laws are municipal laws, and he put up with it with good grace.

"We'll be back really soon. You going to be okay until then?"

"Yeah, fine." There had been something else I wanted to ask, but suddenly I couldn't remember what it was, and besides, my eyes didn't want to stay open. "Thanks," I managed, and sank into sleep.

I had some pretty intense nightmares after that. I don't remember much about them, except that there were vampires, lots of vampires, and they held me down, fangs bared, all semblance of humanity gone from their bodies as they descended on me. Then the dream shifted and I found myself in a twisting maze of hallways, trying to find my way out. After that I dreamed of fire and Elaine, and I dreamed that I was burning alive and that she was there, just out of my reach, calling for me, pleading with me to help her while Justin DuMorne fanned the flames and laughed while he told me that I was going to die. Someone called my name and I started awake, panting, sweat pouring from me, and immediately began coughing so hard that I nearly retched.

"Easy, Harry," Thomas pulled me up into a sitting position so I could breathe, "Easy, there. I've got you. Just relax, and breathe. I've got you."

After what seemed like an eternity of uncontrollable coughing, I drew in a shuddering breath and let myself relax against his arm. He lowered me gently back onto the bed, then propped me up with several pillows so I could breathe more easily, then fixed me with an anxious stare.

"You okay?"

I tried to catch my breath. "More or less."

"I'm going to take off that bandage. You've soaked through it, anyway." I winced as he carefully cut the bandage away from my head. He dipped a folded facecloth in a basin of water by the bed, and wiped my face with it, which was quite possibly the most wonderful feeling in the world. I tried to bite back a quiet moan, feeling as though there wasn't a single part of me that didn't hurt in some way, and felt rather than saw him wince in sympathy. "De Rome really did a number on you."

I stifled a cough. "You should see the other guy."

"You know, your tough guy act isn't fooling anyone."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

He grimaced, but didn't press the issue. "I want you to take some more of these," he rattled the bottle of Advil Charity had left on the night table. "Think you'll be able to get some sleep?"

I swallowed the pills without arguing. It was just ibuprofen, and I didn't have the energy to protest. The room was swimming in my vision, and I couldn't quite focus. There was something I was forgetting, something else I'd wanted to ask or do, but I couldn't keep my eyes open, and it just didn't seem all that important anymore. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I'll be right here if you need anything. Just yell."

There were no more nightmares after that, although I didn't sleep very soundly. I felt just as terrible when I awoke again, if reasonably clear-headed. I looked around blearily, only to find the room empty this time. I could hear Thomas' voice coming from the living room, and realized that it was the sound of the telephone ringing that had awoken me.

"No, Sergeant, I'm afraid he can't speak to you right now," Thomas was saying, in that respectful tone that he reserves only for Murphy. I remembered then what I had forgotten, that I owed Murphy a report on the alleged "gang" activity that had resulted in the weird deaths I'd been investigating. It wasn't a gang, of course, since Gentleman Johnny Marcone, the local crime boss, would never stand for competition on his territory, but rather the little cabal of vampires I'd encountered and whose leader had all but handed my ass to me on a platter before I took him out. I hadn't really had much of a chance to find out what their game was before de Rome tried to use me as a human wrecking ball against the wall of the warehouse, and he was beyond questioning now, anyway.

Sergeant Karrin Murphy was one of the few people I counted as a close friend. In fact, she was as close as they come. She'd risked life, limb, and her career to help me in the past, and I owed her my life a couple of times over. Up until a few months ago, she'd been a Lieutenant and was in charge of SI, or "Special Investigations," the No-Man's Land of Chicago PD, where they send cops who don't fit in with the others for various reasons. In theory SI is supposed to investigate strange occurrences that no one can quite explain through scientific or human means. In reality, because ordinary people don't want to be told that the bogey man is real, SI officers are expected to come up with a rational explanation for werewolves, vampires, ghosts, faeries, demons, and whatever else crops up in a city that happens to be a kind of supernatural crossroads. For cops who have to lie on their reports on a consistent basis, the ones in SI are among the best I have ever had to deal with. At this point, though, I wasn't looking forward to talking to Murphy, because she was likely spitting nails at the absence of my report, which I'd promised her three days before.

There was a pause in the conversation while Murphy said something that sounded unpleasant, and Thomas' tone became sharper. "No, Sergeant, he is not "avoiding" you. He's sick, and he can't come to the phone." Another pause. "Yes, sick. It does happen occasionally to mortals, you know."

I briefly toyed with the idea of letting Thomas play watch dog and avoid the whole unpleasantness until my head stopped hurting, then decided the idea was unworthy even of me. I pushed myself up onto one elbow. "I'm awake," I called out. My voice sounded hoarse, even to me. "I can talk to her, just let me have the phone."

There was a shuffling sound. "Just a moment, please." Thomas poked his head around the door. "Are you sure? A couple of hours ago you were delirious with fever. This can't be a good idea."

I motioned vaguely for the phone. "I owe her a report. Completely forgot. Besides, good ideas aren't my bag." I took the glass of water that was sitting on my night table and drained it.

Thomas sighed, but brought the phone, stretching the long cord as far as it would go. "Fine. I still think this is a bad idea."

"Noted." I took the receiver from him. "Murph? You there?"

"Dresden?" Murphy sounded suspicious. "Your brother said you were sick."

"Far be it from me to contradict my own brother," I quipped, ignoring the dark look I got from Thomas. "I know I owe you a report, and I'll get it to you as soon as I can. The CliffsNotes version is that your mysterious murders were the result of a heaping plateful of black magic with a side order of Black Court vampire."

I could practically hear the gears working in her mind. "So, a vampire with magical ability."

"Along with a small group of followers, with minor magical powers themselves. You don't need to worry about them for now, though. Their leader had an unfortunate encounter with some scaffolding that just happened to be on fire at the time."

"Oh, Christ, Dresden, that was you? How many buildings does that make now?"

"I stopped counting after five. It feels too much like bragging."

"So where are the rest of this little fanclub?"

My head was throbbing again. Or maybe I should say worse, because it had never really stopped throbbing. "Not sure. I kind of lost track of them when their leader started throwing spells around. They'll need some time to regroup, though, or so Bob assures me."

"Who?"

Hell's Bells, I must be further gone than I thought, to let that slip. "Uh, just a source I use. Not his real name, I might add." I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, trying to massage away the headache. It didn't work.

"Great. An unnamed source who goes by 'Bob.' I wish I shared your touching faith in this man. Are you sure the information is reliable?"

"My source is above reproach," I assured her, if a bit mechanically. It was getting hard to concentrate, and I didn't catch what she said next.

"Dresden?"

"'M still here."

"You all right?"

"Fine," I lied. I was dizzy, and the short conversation had already tired me out.

"Why don't you give the phone back to your brother."

"Just 'cause he's prettier than me..." I held the phone out vaguely in Thomas' direction. "She wants to speak to you. No funny stuff, now," I mumbled, my eyes closing in spite of me.

He took the phone, and a moment later I heard him say accusingly: "I told you..." I didn't catch the end of his sentence as he left the room, and, admitting defeat, I let myself drift back to sleep.

*****


	8. Chapter 8

I'm on a roll, apparently. I figured it was about time Harry got a stern talking-to from someone who knows better.

*****

Nightmares are so passé. At least, that's what my subconscious decided after that. I mostly try not to speak to the guy, because he's kind of a jerk. So of course he waited until my defences were down in order to set up an ambush. I found him sitting in one of the numerous rooms that make up my psyche, straddling a chair, legs akimbo, arms folded across the back of it, watching me with a sardonic smile. He always manages to look better than I do, too. He keeps his facial hair neatly trimmed, and wears clean, well-cut clothes, and my trench coat looks way better on him than it does on me. If I didn't know better, I'd say I envied him, but I did mention that he's a jerk, right? A chair magically appeared in front of him and he motioned for me to sit down.

Even in my dreams I get cut no slack. I limped to the chair and eased myself into it. How is it even remotely fair that I should still feel sick and sore even when I was outside of my body?

"It's about time you got here. Do you know how long I've been waiting?" he asked.

"Not long enough, clearly."

He snorted. "Uh-huh. You know, you get into more trouble because you don't listen to me..."

I put up a hand to interrupt him. "Don't start. Stars and stones, you think I don't know what kind of trouble I'd get into if I did listen to you? Let's remember who was having secret negotiations with Lasciel behind my back, here, and who was actively resisting the temptations of the Denarians. If memory serves, the former was you, the latter was me."

"Only because you wouldn't speak to her on your own. She was bored, and I can't blame her for that. I'm much more interesting than you are."

"You mean more easily led by your—"

"Let's not be crude, now, dear Superego."

I scowled at him. "Are you here to talk, or are you just here to spout antiquated Freudian notions of identity? You're more Id than Ego, anyway."

He grinned. "_Touché_. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Speaking of which, how come you still haven't hooked up with Murphy? Don't tell me the two of you are still all hung up on that it-can-never-be crap."

"Don't start. You know you're not going to win this argument."

He held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Fine, fine. Be that way. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway."

I leaned back in my chair, trying to ease the muscle cramps that were threatening to make my back spasm, and contemplated the unfairness of still feeling crappy in my dreams. The other Harry gave me a dark look.

"You look like shit."

I rolled my eyes. "Gee, thanks. Was that all you had to say? For the record, next time, can you pick some more comfortable surroundings? I feel like I'm in an interrogation room."

He smirked at me. "Fine."

Immediately the chair I was in transformed into a much comfier recliner, and the white room faded, leaving in its place what appeared to be a cozy living-room, complete with fireplace. My subconscious, however, remained straddling his wooden chair. I tried not to think too hard about what that kind of imagery signified.

I nodded my approval. "Much better. I could have a nap here, even."

"You don't have time for a nap. In fact, we don't even really have time for banter, but it's so much fun I couldn't pass it up. Do you know how screwed you are?"

I blinked at him. "What?"

He pointed an accusing finger at me. "I know you've been a bit busy what with the vampires and everything, but you need to start thinking more clearly about what's going on, here."

I crossed my arms and glowered. "And I suppose you're the one who's going to show me how?"

"If I have to beat you over the head to do it," he agreed. "We might not always get along, but let's face it: without you I don't exist, so it's in my best interests to keep you alive. You need to tell someone what happened to you out at that warehouse."

"What? I did tell someone. Thomas knows, and the Carpenters. Bob knows too, for what it's worth."

He shook his head. "You're even more of an idiot than I thought. Think about it. Do they really _know_? What have you told them? That you got in a fight with a bunch of vampires. Did you tell them everything that happened?"

That gave me pause. Had I told them everything? Normally I told Molly what was going on as a matter of course: it was important both for her apprenticeship and for our working relationship in general. Mostly in my experience I've found that keeping secrets from people is something I ought to do as little as possible: every time I do it, something bad ends up happening to them because I tried to protect them from the knowledge. Better they make an educated choice for themselves. Okay, I'm not always consistent about this, but I try. Which brought me back to the original question. My other self smirked at me.

"You didn't tell them about the death curse, did you?"

I shook my head. "I guess I didn't. I told Bob, but I didn't tell Molly because I didn't remember it until later."

"And you didn't tell her or anyone else afterward... why?"

"Because it's probably not real. Or at least, it's not relevant. You should know as well as I do that there's almost no way that it could be related to what's going on. I had this argument with myself yesterday, do you really want to have it again?" I sounded petulant, much to my annoyance.

"I didn't find your arguments particularly convincing," my other self pointed out. "Especially since they don't involve full disclosure. Now, normally I'm on the other side of this argument, which in and of itself should tell you how serious I'm being. You're being stupid, Harry, stupid and reckless. Maybe this death curse business is nothing. Maybe it is just the flu, or whatever, but there's no reason for you not to tell someone else, so that you can rule it out."

Okay, maybe the jackass had a point. "I don't know. It's not like Michael or Charity can do anything about it anyway, and Molly's not that far advanced in her training..."

"So tell Thomas. Or one of the Wardens."

I scowled. "I am _not_ hauling one of the Wardens away from the war just because I have the flu!"

"Who said anything about that? Just make sure someone knows."

It's really hard to argue with yourself. You always know ahead of time what arguments you're going to make, which makes it really difficult to win.

"Fine. I'll think about it." My head was starting to pound, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache. "Why can't dreams with you in them ever be pleasant?"

He shrugged. "Well, I've said my piece. If you prefer to go back to your nightmares, be my guest."

"Wait, that's not what I me—"

Of course, it was too late. Before I knew it, the cozy room had vanished, leaving me alone to wander in the dark. After that, the nightmares started again in earnest.

*****


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for the delay, everyone. I actually got quite sick after my last post, and the story kind of ground to a halt because of it. I've had to make some pretty important changes, so writing and production has slowed down as a result. I hope the end product will be worth the wait. :)

*****

Thomas was still there when I awoke, shaking and sweating from my dreams. It was early enough in the morning that the room was still dark, and I could just make out his pale silhouette, stark against the shadows of the room. He leaned forward when he saw I was awake.

"Harry? How're you feeling?"

I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist. "Been worse." It felt as though my tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth, and my voice cracked.

Thomas helpfully held out a glass of water to me, then steadied my hands as they shook so much I nearly spilled the whole thing in my lap. "You're a terrible liar. Come on, it's just me, here. No one you have to chivalrously protect from the truth."

I struggled to pull my thoughts together. There _was_ something I had wanted to tell him, wasn't there? "I can't think straight. Everything's all jumbled together."

He patted my arm. "Try not to worry about it. Take your time, okay? I just want to know what's going on with you."

The room was spinning drunkenly again, and I shut my eyes, trying to make it stop. "I don't know. It shouldn't be like this."

"Okay," his voice was gentle, worried. "Just... try to get some sleep. It's still early, and..." The doorbell rang, interrupting him. "That's weird. Charity said she wouldn't be here until mid-morning. Hang on, I'll be right back."

There was a murmur of voices at the door, and then none other than Sergeant Karrin Murphy herself was in the doorway to my bedroom, her hands shoved in the pockets of her trench coat. Murphy is a blond, five-foot-nothing terror who can do frightening things to people using just her bare hands, but I also count her as a friend, which is probably a good thing for me in the long run. Otherwise, she'd probably break me in half. Now, though, she just looked worried, and the sight of her was enough to make me pull together what few strands of thought I had left.

"Well, I suppose I should have known that your brother doesn't lie much better than you do, Dresden," she said by way of hello. "What the hell have you been doing to yourself?"

"Hey, Murph," I replied instead, in what I hoped could be interpreted as a conversational style. "I feel as though I ought to apologize for the state of my housekeeping, or something." My voice cracked about halfway through the second sentence, which I think may have ruined the casual effect I was going for.

Thomas came up behind her, holding a second chair so they could both sit at the same time. She parked herself in the chair nearest me, and fixed me with a cold stare. "You look like you should be in a hospital."

I shook my head, although it made the room go round even faster. "Bad idea. Machines, magic, boom. You know."

It hadn't even occurred to me to consider the hospital, but now that she brought it up, it seemed like a way to add another problem to the veritable cornucopia of problems I had at the moment.

"You've been in a hospital before without too much going wrong."

"For an injury. This is different. Can't take that risk." I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. There was a glass of water on my table and I reached for it, but my fingers weren't quite working in the way I was accustomed, and only some quick moving on Murphy's part prevented me from knocking it over.

"You're a mess, Dresden. Here, let me," she said brusquely, and held the water for me. A little humiliated, I obediently drank the water, and was treated to the sight of my brother rolling his eyes.

"Sure, when a pretty woman holds the glass, he's all meek and biddable. You sure you can't stay? He's been snippy with me the whole time."

Murphy snorted, half with amusement. "The novelty would wear off quickly, I assure you. I'm not exactly the nurturing type."

"I really love it when people talk about me as though I wasn't here," I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open and failing. "Was there anything you needed, Murph?"

"I was coming to see how you were, and to ask you about those vampires, but it doesn't look like you're in any condition to do that. It'll keep."

"No, it's okay. What did you need to know?"

I didn't even realize my eyes had closed until I felt Murphy's hand on my arm and realized I hadn't seen her move. "Don't be stupid, Dresden, you can barely stay awake. Let me ask Butters to look in on you, at least."

Thomas answered before I could. "Would you? He's being stubborn."

I made a half-hearted protesting sound, but they ignored me. "All right," Murphy replied. "He should be coming off his shift just now. I'll see if I can get him to come by. Get some sleep, Harry."

I didn't need to be told twice. Murphy was true to her word, though, and the next thing I knew someone was shaking me gently by the shoulder. I opened my eyes, to find myself staring into the round face of Waldo Butters, the city's medical-examiner-by-night. He used to be on the day shift, but after a truthful but ill-though-out report he made on some vampire corpses, he suffered a demotion. I think he's happier on night shift, overall. There's less scrutiny, and he has time to follow his other passions, too.

"Butters. How goes the polka?"

He grinned at me. "Good morning, Harry. Polka will never die, as you well know. It's you everyone's worried about." He pulled up a chair and opened the black doctor's bag he'd taken to carrying around with him. "Why don't you tell me what your symptoms are?"

I have to give it to Butters. Even though he's much happier working on corpses, he's a damned good doctor, too. It's thanks to him that my left hand isn't completely useless, and he's helped patch me and others up more times than I can count. I let him poke and prod at me and even stick a thermometer in my mouth, although it wasn't necessarily with good grace. Good grace isn't exactly my strong suit. By the time he was done, he was shaking his head and clucking his tongue.

"Let me guess," I said drily. "I'm sick."

He chuckled. "Good diagnosis, doctor. Looks like a really bad case of the flu, as far as I can tell. Some of your symptoms are a little odd —the dizziness and vomiting— but that could be the head injury. If you're not better in a day or so, then I strongly suggest you go to a hospital. It isn't good for someone your age to run a fever for this long."

"Are you saying I'm old, Butters?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Just do what your doctor tells you, all right Harry?"

"Fine," I mumbled. "I'll be good, I promise."

"Attaboy. There's nothing you're not telling me, is there, Harry? This isn't the time to be holding back. Remember, doctor-patient privilege."

The nagging doubt that had receded in my mind came back to the fore. What was I forgetting? The notion that I wasn't in full control of my mind was maddening. "I... don't think so. I keep thinking that I'm forgetting something, something important. It's there, just out of my reach. I just can't remember what it is..." I tried to sit up, maybe under the mistaken idea that it would clear my head and let whatever idea it was come slipping back through the cracks. Instead, all I got for my effort was a stabbing pain in my head, and my stomach performing flip-flops. Butters pushed me back onto the bed.

"Easy, Harry. Don't get upset, it won't help anything. Look, I'll leave my card," he pulled one out of his wallet, and began scribbling on it with a pen, "and I'll put my home number on the back. You have someone call me if you remember, or if anything else happens, all right? It's probably nothing, Harry," he tried to reassure me. "You've got a really high fever, and that can make you think all sorts of things. Obsessing about something you've forgotten, fixating on certain ideas, it's a pretty common symptom. Try not to worry about it."

Right then I was willing to promise anything, as long as the room stood still. "Okay."

"I'm a phone call away. Take it easy, and drink as much as you can, all right?"

"Right."

I never heard him leave, though I'm pretty sure I heard him talking to Thomas in the other room. It seemed like far too much of an effort to stay awake after that, and so I let myself drift back to sleep.

*****


	10. Chapter 10

After a great deal of fiddling and editing, I have managed to get these last two chapters into a semblance of order. I do hope that this isn't an illness-induced delusion, but if it is, please be nice about it when you let me know. ;)

Hope you enjoy the next bit!

*****

Did I mention that being sick is boring? Because it is. It's not just boring, though, it's horrifically uncomfortable, and it makes you feel like you're trying to swim uphill through molasses in January. The time that I didn't spend sleeping I spent lying in a half-stupor, wishing that I was asleep, or maybe dead. Dead didn't seem like a halfway bad state, compared to this. I was constantly too hot or too cold, I ached all over, my lungs burned with every breath, and I couldn't hold down anything more substantial than broth. Sometimes even the broth didn't stay down, which was unpleasant for everyone. I'm not a particularly good patient, either, and Thomas got the brunt of my bad mood, whenever I was coherent enough to complain about the pills he kept trying to get me to take. I think he was probably as frustrated as I was, if not more so, and was grateful when Charity came to take his place at mid-morning.

She came into the room and sat next to the bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" I complained.

I got a disapproving frown. "Dresden, don't be difficult. You're ill, and that means we're going to ask how you're feeling so we can help." I may have mumbled something about not needing help, which earned me a scowl. "Don't push me, Dresden. Christian charity only goes so far, and you're very lucky to have friends like my husband who care for you enough to put up with you, even like this. Now, spare me having to lecture you and just tell me how you're feeling."

It's very hard not to be meek around Charity, let me tell you. She just inspires it in spades. "About the same as yesterday."

"Fever, chills?"

I nodded, smothering a cough. "Butters thinks it might be a bad case of flu."

"Hmph. Did he say anything else?"

I briefly considered lying to her, then thought better of it. "That I should consider a hospital if I'm not better by tomorrow."

She nodded. "The man has some sense, then. Thomas tells me your fever got much worse during the night."

"Could be. I don't remember much about last night. I half-expected to wake up in a strange bed," I joked lamely.

"That's not funny, Dresden."

"Sorry." This time I couldn't keep the coughing at bay, and she stopped peppering me with questions, pulling my pillows behind me instead. When I was able to catch my breath she held a glass of water to my lips.

"I want you to try to finish the whole glass, all right? You're badly dehydrated."

For the record, I'd like to say that I really did try to finish all the water. I did mention that I don't like to cross Charity on anything, and this was no exception. I think I managed a few swallows, but that was about as much as my stomach could handle. I pushed the glass away. "Can't. Sorry."

She held the glass steady. "One more. Just try, please?"

I shook my head. "I can't." My stomach roiled just at the thought. "Sorry. Going to be sick."

She put the glass down. "Okay. We'll try again later. Take some deep breaths, it'll help." She put her hand on mine, smoothing my hair back with her other hand. I don't know how she does it —maybe it's a mothering thing— but I felt myself relax under the gentle touch of her fingers with a sigh. She leaned closer. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Lie still."

I'm not sure how much time passed, but it didn't seem like all that long before she was back, waking me with the gentlest brush of her fingers against my cheek. "Wake up, Dresden." I murmured a protest, but she insisted, still gently. "Come on, I know you want to sleep, but we have to get fluids in you somehow. Come on, I'll help you, and then you can go back to sleep."

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, and Charity helped me to sit up the rest of the way, and held another glass to my lips. I swallowed once, then looked at her in surprise. "Ginger ale?"

She smiled grimly. "Warm, flat ginger ale, yes. I figured it would go down better than water, and it'll help settle your stomach. I have five children, Dresden. Upset stomachs, colds and the flu have no mysteries for me anymore. Drink up."

I acquitted myself pretty respectably, I like to think. I finished the whole glass, and let Charity take my temperature without complaining even once. She looked at the thermometer with a disapproving look with which I was becoming all too familiar.

"You're getting worse."

I made a face at her. "I don't see how it's possible for me to get worse," I tried to sound overly-melodramatic, and that earned me the disapproving look. Not exactly what I was going for.

"Don't be a smart-aleck, Dresden."

"May as well ask the sun to change directions in the sky," I quipped, and grinned at her. "I made you smile. Don't pretend it didn't happen, I totally saw it."

She was smiling, in spite of herself. "Dresden, I can see right through your tricks. Don't try to change the subject. You're not getting better, and you should be, by now."

I didn't feel like arguing. "I know. I told Butters I'd go to the hospital tomorrow if I wasn't better. I'd just... I'd rather avoid that if I can. I don't want to be responsible for something going wrong with the equipment there."

Charity nodded. "I understand. Molly's been saying the same thing. I don't understand all of it, nor do I pretend to, but she says that there's something... strange... going on with you. Something about energy fluctuations. She says that it might be even riskier than usual to have you in the hospital, and I'm minded to listen to her on this matter. But I will say that I'm... uneasy... about this. I wish I knew more about this, instead of relying on the insights of a teenaged girl and a man half out of his mind with fever."

I made a vaguely helpless gesture. "I'm sorry. This is all new to me, too. Mostly I just get shot or stabbed or beaten around the head. I'm not used to just plain sickness."

She sighed. "It's not your fault, as much as I'd like to blame you for this. It would certainly make my life easier." I blinked at her, wondering if she'd actually just made a joke. "If you're not better by tomorrow..."

"Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?" I suggested. "Right now, all I can think about is another nap."

In deference to Charity, I made an effort to be good for the rest of the day. I still felt like death warmed over, and that part didn't get any better, but I managed not to snap at Charity, and spent most of the afternoon drowsing, slipping in and out of restless dreams. To my surprise, Murphy came back late in the evening, and earned herself a reproving glance from Charity.

"Don't tire him out."

"I won't. How're you feeling, Harry?"

"Fine."

"You're still a lousy liar. You don't look fine."

I opened my eyes in time to see Charity exchange what could be described as a significant look with Murphy. "I still feel like hell, if that's what you wanted to know."

Charity made her way to the door. "I'll give you a few minutes, shall I?"

"Thanks," Murphy nodded and pulled up the chair next to my bed. "You've got everyone pretty worried, Harry. What's going on with you?"

I bit back a groan of frustration. "I don't know. I can't think straight. I keep thinking I'm missing something, but I can't hold a thought for more than a minute and it keeps getting all jumbled up..." I pressed a hand to my forehead, in a vain attempt to get things to make sense again, then gave it up as a bad job and lay back down. "Did I tell you about the vampires?" I kept my eyes closed as a wave of dizziness washed over me, and even though I knew it wouldn't do any good I felt my hands grip at the bed, as though to anchor myself in place. I had had something important to tell Murphy about the vampires, I just knew it, if only I could remember what it was.

"A little bit. Don't worry about it now, it can wait. You've given me enough to work with for now."

"No, it's fine. I just need a minute..."

Okay, I was lying. It was considerably longer than a minute, and try as I might, I couldn't make my body do anything I wanted it to. Mostly what my body wanted me to do was lie there, and feel dizzy and way too hot, and being the easygoing sort of guy that I am, I obliged. I could hear people murmuring around me, but it was difficult to tell if the voices were all inside my head or if I was really hearing them, and after a while I didn't really care all that much anyway. The bed got too hot really fast, but annoyingly someone kept pulling a sheet back over me every time I tried to throw off the covers. I remember making some sort of protesting noise, but it made little difference. Someone placed a cool cloth on my head and murmured something that sounded soothing, and for a few moments I felt better, and drifted back to sleep.

*****


	11. Chapter 11

This is the last chapter in which Harry is going to wallow in self-pity, I promise. After this, the action ought to get a little more interesting. I hope so, anyway!

Happy trails, dear readers!

*****

There were more nightmares after that, from which I'd awaken lathered in sweat and gasping, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might just burst through my ribcage. I don't really remember much about the dreams, except that in all of them I saw Elaine, and in all of them she was calling to me, and I couldn't quite get to her. In all of them I found myself bound against my will, all my magic useless, and in all of them there was fire, threatening to consume me while I struggled. I don't know how many times I awakened, shaking so hard I could hear my teeth clicking together, Elaine's name hovering on my lips. I don't know if I called her name aloud or only in my dreams, but it seemed vitally important that I find her, that I reach her. When I was awake, though, I couldn't bring myself to try to sleep, terrified as I was of going back to those dreams. Rationally I knew there was no way that going back to sleep could hurt me, that the fear was something I ought to just ignore and it would eventually go away, but the fever-addled part of my mind kept me half-awake and terrified, and it was only exhaustion that kept plunging me back into sleep.

The pain got worse after that, and I curled up under the sweat-soaked bedsheets in a vain effort to stave it off. In the early hours of the morning the sound of moaning awoke me, and it took me several minutes of trying to figure out who else was there before I realized that I'd awoken myself. I didn't want to go back to sleep after that, and my stomach agreed with me wholeheartedly. I thought, then, that if I went now, I might actually make it to the bathroom before it was too late. I rolled onto my side and tried to push myself upright, but a hand came out of nowhere and pushed me back onto the bed.

"Easy, Dresden. Stay put."

I blinked in confusion. "Murph?"

"I'm not the tooth fairy, if that's what you're asking."

My brain refused to make sense of her presence, but there was a more pressing concern on my mind. "Feel sick."

That got her attention. I could tell by the way she let go and fumbled by the bed. "Okay, Harry, hang on. Here," she helped me to sit up and held a basin in front of me while I retched miserably. She rubbed my back and said something that sounded nice and comforting, but I was too busy being sick to hear exactly what it was. "Feel better?" she asked, when I was done.

"Not really," I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist.

She got up and returned with a glass. "Here. Rinse out your mouth."

It was mouthwash. "Oh, God bless you."

She kept rubbing my back. "It always makes me feel better when I'm sick. I can bring you a toothbrush and toothpaste, too, if you want."

That sounded like the best idea she'd ever come up with, bar none. "Please."

My dentist would be disappointed with the job I did, but I felt a lot better after I couldn't taste bile anymore, and leaned back against my pillows, feeling drained. Murphy startled me by brushing her fingers across my forehead, smoothing back the hair that had plastered itself to my face with sweat, then gently wiped my face with a damp cloth I mumbled something that was meant to sound like "thank you," but I have no idea how it came out, and she heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Dresden, what the hell have you been doing to yourself? I don't think I've ever seen you have a cold, let alone something like this. There's something else going on here, isn't there?"

"Something else?" The nagging feeling was back, worse than ever.

"Come on, Harry. There's something you're not telling us. You keep skirting around its edges, but I can tell you're holding something back. Talk to me, Harry. I thought we had an understanding about full disclosure."

That jogged something loose in my memory. Someone had said something about disclosure to me recently. I thought I'd told someone... Bob. I had told Bob, and it wasn't as though he was going to volunteer the information. I had agreed to tell them, I just couldn't remember if I had done so. Maybe I hadn't... I made an effort to corral my thoughts. Murphy was listening, and that was all that counted. I gathered my wits about me, and tried to form a coherent sentence. I almost succeeded.

"Death curse."

Murphy leaned in closer to me. "What? Harry, I can't understand you."

"Death curse," I mumbled, trying to enunciate more clearly. "That's what he said, when he died."

"Who, Harry?"

"De Rome. The vampire. It was his death curse." I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. "He ordered me to sicken and die."

And, as if on cue, everything went black.

*****


	12. Chapter 12

The plot thickens! Well, a little bit. This is the last of the story that I already had written, so it may be a while before I have anything remotely ready to post. Have fun!

*****

I dreamed of Elaine. This time, there were no nightmares. I dreamed of Elaine when we were teenagers, learning together the secrets of magic, and learning what it was like to be in love. I dreamed about caressing her skin, about escaping with her through the trees in the little woods that were near the house where we lived, and I dreamed of her laughter, merry and infectious in the afternoon sunlight. I was ill, once, when we were still young, and she sat with me until I was better. She was always better at the subtle arts than I was. My spells always involved brute force, but hers could wind themselves into delicate webs of magic, just as strong, if not stronger than mine.

I dreamed of Elaine, that she was there with me, holding my hand, murmuring to me. I knew it couldn't be true, that in reality she was hundreds of miles away building a whole new life for herself, away from me, away from all the twisted, tangled memories we had together. I knew it, but still I allowed myself to believe it, because it made me feel better to have her there, even though things could never be the way they were when we were kids, still untarnished by everything that had come afterward. Now we were separated by memories, by others, by our choices, but part of me still wanted her, could still feel the electric tingle of her skin against mine. I might not have been in love with Elaine any longer, but I loved her, and part of me still longed for the comfort of her nearness. One dream of her turned into two, into three, and each one was pleasant, in its own way.

The light in the room was fading when I opened my eyes, which meant that it was day again, and a quick glance at my bedside clock confirmed that it was either five o'clock in the evening, or else that I had lost several months and it was now five in the evening sometime during the summer. Since I've never been a fan of Rip Van Winkle, I decided to be optimistic and go with the former assumption.

I was also feeling a whole lot better. So much better, in fact, that I was kind of suspicious. I mean, I wasn't complaining, or anything, but you have to admit it's a little weird to feel like you're on death's door one minute, and the next thing you know you feel as though you could probably get out of bed and go make breakfast. I decided to test that theory, and pushed myself up on my elbows, waiting for the inevitable feelings of dizziness and nausea, and was pleasantly surprised when neither came about. My head was clear for the first time in what felt like weeks, and I was no longer shaking or sweating, neither too hot nor too cold. In fact, I felt good all around, if maybe a little weak. I definitely wanted a shower, though. There were sweat stains on my t-shirt, and there are no words to describe just how gross I felt.

I was careful getting up, but whatever had made me feel so wretched, it seemed to be well and truly gone. Even my leg had stopped hurting, although it was still bound tightly with an elastic bandage. I suspected that was Charity's doing. I brushed my fingertips against the wall as I went into the bathroom, and switched on the shower. The shock of the cold water made me gasp, but it was a small price to pay for the sensation of being clean again. I stayed under the freezing stream maybe a few minutes longer than I would have otherwise, enjoying the feeling of water over my abused body. I was a little shakier when I got out, but a bit of food would soon put that right. I towelled off, brushed my teeth properly for the first time in days, and very carefully shaved the several days' growth of beard from my chin before fumbling in my dresser for some clean clothes. Luckily, this wasn't too hard to accomplish: I always have clean clothes these days, ever since the fae folk have taken to housekeeping for me. The wee folk are strange about that sort of thing, though, which is why I keep it a secret. If you go around blabbing that they're the ones keeping your place clean, then they just stop. So, I keep it between them and me, and I routinely order and extra pizza for them, as a way of saying thank you.

I pulled a t-shirt over my head, carefully re-wrapped my leg in the elastic bandage, and tugged on a clean pair of jeans. I was buckling my belt —noting with some dismay that I was able to tighten it by two notches — when Molly poked her head around the door.

"You're awake!" she beamed with unfeigned pleasure, and I'll admit it kind of gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. I grinned back at her.

"Hey, grasshopper. How've you been?"

"Better than you. School just let out a while ago. I thought you'd still be asleep."

I shook my head. "Too hungry to sleep. I thought I'd go raid the fridge."

She stood in the doorway, biting her lower lip. "You sure you don't want me to bring you a tray?"

"I'm sure. I've been lying down way too long. I promise, I'll take it easy," I held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I just want to move a little bit, get the feeling back in my legs."

"Okay. As long as you promise."

"Scout's honour."

She grabbed me by the elbow as I made my way to the kitchen, and while I wasn't exactly feeling dizzy, I didn't protest too much. I was a little shaky, and the floor looked awfully far away if I fell.

"Why don't you let me make you dinner?" she offered suddenly. "You sit there, and I'll make whatever you want."

"Anything?" I teased, and her face fell.

"Uh, well, anything that you have on hand, anyway. Also, Mom says nothing too rich, or you won't be able to hold it down. So... how about spaghetti?"

I tried my best to look resigned, but right now spaghetti sounded like the best thing in the universe. "Spaghetti it is."

She bustled around the stove with more than her usual enthusiasm. Molly has never been overly keen on the domestic arts, not that I can blame her. She kept stealing covert glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking, and the effect was oddly charming.

"Something on your mind, grasshopper?"

She turned to face me, fork in hand from where she'd been trying to keep the spaghetti from clumping together. "You're really feeling better, right?"

"Of course." I frowned, wondering just what she was driving at. "Why?" She didn't answer for a few minutes, pretending to be busy with the food. She dumped the pasta into a colander, draining the water and shaking it a bit before setting it before me on a steaming plate.

"No sauce, either, sorry. If this doesn't make you hurl, then maybe we can give you something more exciting."

I took a bite, and it tasted like the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten. I forced myself to eat slowly, one bite at a time. "Okay, Molly, talk to me. What's going on?"

Her expression changed, to one that gave me less of a warm fuzzy feeling. "Promise you won't be mad?"

I swallowed another mouthful of spaghetti. "What did you do?"

She folded her arms over her chest and scuffed the toe of her shoe on the floor, a gesture that made her look more childlike than I'd seen her in a long time. "Before you get mad, you ought to know that everyone else agreed with me on this, and you are feeling better, right?"

"Maybe not as much as I thought, since I can't make any sense of what you're saying." That didn't prevent me from continuing to attack the spaghetti as though it was my mortal enemy. "Let's start with the obvious. Did you break any of the Laws of Magic while I was unconscious?"

She made an indignant noise. "Of course not!"

I nodded. "Good. So whatever it is, it can't be that bad. Spill."

She sat down at the table in front of me. "So how come you didn't tell me it was a death curse?"

I blinked. This wasn't exactly what I'd been expecting. "What?"

Molly didn't quite meet my eyes. "Is it because you don't trust me? Did I do something wrong?"

"I thought I was the one doing the interrogating, here. And no, you didn't do anything wrong. I didn't tell you at first because I didn't think it was relevant, and after that I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I have several reliable witnesses to that effect," I added wryly, and that earned me a small smile.

"I was worried, you know. You were so sick, you didn't recognize anyone, and every time I walked into the room it felt as though you were just bleeding to death right in front of me."

"You're not making sense. What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "I can't explain it. I just... I could feel energy bleeding out of you. It scared me."

That unsettled me. I was the only thing standing between her and death by the White Council, and I hadn't realized just how much she relied on my presence, as a protector as well as a teacher. I reached out and patted her hand. "Well, I'm all right now, so don't worry about it."

"No, that's not..." She seemed almost to choke on the words, then steeled herself and looked me directly in the eyes. "You're not really all right. That's what I wanted to tell you. I was scared that you were going to die, and I couldn't explain it to my parents or to Murphy, or any of them. They just thought you had the flu, or something, but it was worse than that, and I couldn't get them to understand, and the best I could do was get them to agree to ask someone who would understand."

I felt my pulse quicken. "Who?"

"You promised you wouldn't be mad," she reminded me.

"I'm not, but I need to know what 's going on, and who you've been talking to."

She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the salt shaker. "There's only one wizard we both know who's got a gift for healing. So I asked her."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Elaine."

*****


	13. Chapter 13

The prodigal daughter returns! Or something. Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and please don't hesitate to let me know if something is seriously jarring about the text: constructive criticism is very helpful.

Cheers!

*****

As though by some unspoken agreement, everyone made their appearance about an hour later, after I'd grilled Molly mercilessly on her decision to drag Elaine all the way from Los Angeles to Chicago.

"Harry, come on! I said I'm sorry, all right? I didn't know who else to call. You were so sick, and we couldn't take you to a hospital, and I thought you were going to die, and I was really scared..." she drew her breath in with a hiccup, refusing to look me in the eye and hugging herself tightly with both arms.

"Aww, no fair, Molly. You know I hate it when women cry." I took down the box of tissues I keep on the fridge and handed one to her. I do hate it when women cry, especially if I appear to be the direct cause of it. I hadn't realized how scared she was, although in my defence I hadn't exactly been on top of my game the past few days. "Please stop leaking on my kitchen table. It'll leave streaks."

She sniffled and laughed. "Did it work?"

"Very effective, only you didn't quite manage to get me off-track."

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. "I know it wouldn't have been your first choice, but everyone else thought I was right. I mean, would you rather I called the Wardens? That was our other option."

I scowled. "No."

She crossed her arms over her chest and awarded me a glare that would have made her mother proud. "So who would _you_ have called? I'm open to suggestions, o mentor mine."

"Point taken."

"Why don't you just wait until she's here, and you can ask her everything your want. How about that?"

I rubbed my eyes with my index fingers. "Right. I can see that going well."

"Well, they're here, anyway."

I glanced up at the sound of the front door scraping open, and not for the first time made a mental note to try and fix it. Mind you, anything that discourages people —and creatures— from coming in uninvited can't be a bad thing. Sure, I put up wards, but a physical barrier isn't a bad thing either. Molly jumped up and ran to the front door. I stayed where I was for a minute, waiting for my pulse to slow to something resembling a normal speed. Not that I was nervous or anything. I could hear Molly talking animatedly, and eventually decided that I couldn't hide out in the kitchen forever —not that that's what I was doing, you understand.

"You can't hide in there forever, Dresden," Murphy's voice reached me first.

I got to my feet, feeling as though I should be more unsteady than I was. "I'm not hiding!"

It was like walking into a conclave. I don't remember the last time there were that many people in my living room. I looked at Charity and Michael, here together even though it was the evening.

"Father Forthill is babysitting?"

Michael nodded. "How are you feeling, Harry?"

"A lot better, actually."

Murphy was sitting on one side of the sofa, with Mouse's head taking up all the space in her lap. On the other side, was Elaine. She looked the same as the last time I'd seen her, maybe a little better. A little careworn, perhaps, but in our line of work that's to be expected. I've been told that I sport that look as well, sometimes. I wouldn't know, since I don't make it a habit of keeping mirrors around. Elaine does the same sort of consulting work I do, only in Los Angeles. She's even in the phone book under "Wizards," taking a page from my book, so to speak. I felt my throat tighten a bit, and cleared it with a cough.

"Hi, Elaine."

She turned to look at me with a smile, but she looked tired. "Hello, Harry."

Even Thomas was there. It was like a reunion. I felt a grin spreading over my features. "I suppose you are wondering why I have brought you all here tonight..."

Murphy rolled her eyes. "Sit, Dresden."

Thomas returned my grin, but jerked his head toward my armchair in a meaningful way. I was actually feeling a bit tired by then, so I decided not to make an issue of it. I eased myself into the chair, acutely conscious of six pairs of eyes watching me. "You guys are going to make me blush, staring like that. I'm fine, really."

Elaine cleared her throat. "Actually, Harry, that's why we're here. You're not really fine."

"Is this an intervention? Because I can quit anytime I want!"

"Would you please take this seriously, Dresden?" Charity's eyes snapped, and I subsided. If they had arranged for babysitting and were here this late on a school night, then they were really putting themselves out for me. In fact, they'd already gone well above and beyond the call of duty for the past few days, and it would be pretty churlish and ungrateful of me to throw that in their faces.

"Sorry."

Elaine was twisting one of the rings she wears on the fingers of her left hand. They serve a similar purpose to the shield bracelet I wear, only hers is way more sophisticated than anything I've been able to come up with. I decided to make the job easier for her. I'm generous that way.

"So that's the second time today I've been told I'm not really fine. I feel fine —which is weird, granted, given the circumstances— so does anyone want to explain things to me?" Okay, maybe that came out a little more belligerently than I'd intended. Sue me, being sick and incapacitated for days makes me cranky.

Elaine kept fiddling with her ring, and Murphy took the lead. "Why don't you start, Dresden? How about you fill us in on what happened last Friday?"

Involuntarily my hand went to the laceration in my scalp that was now thoroughly scabbed over. "What do you mean?"

She fixed me with a flat look. "You haven't exactly given us a lot to go on. You stagger in here, concussed and bleeding all over your cheap carpets—"

"My carpets aren't cheap!"

Murphy didn't bat an eyelash. "And the next thing we know, you're delirious with fever and raving about death curses, and then lose consciousness for two days. So, how about you fill in the gaps in that story?"

"Uh..." I blinked, a little nonplussed. "Two days? What day is it?"

"Thursday."

"Hell's bells." I rubbed my hand over my face. I'd lost well over two days, almost three. It had been Tuesday morning the last time I'd been awake, I was almost sure of it.

So I gave them the condensed version of the story. It wasn't as though there was that much to tell. Murphy already knew that she'd asked me to look in on a series of odd deaths that had been taking place in the city. So I had done what I always do, which is stick my wizarding nose in where no one really wanted it, and come across some pretty sure signs of vampire activity. Now, any sensible wizard who essentially declared war on all the vampire courts (for the record, it was totally their fault!) would steer well-clear of that, but luckily for all of us I have never been sensible. This was new, too. Well, as new as vampires get. As a rule, vampires are pretty old-school. Be that as it may, this was new for Chicago. Occupational hazard means that I keep tabs on local vampiric activity, so anything new tends to attract my attention. A bit of extra digging had brought me to de Rome and his little group of wannabes, but that was as far as I'd been able to get before de Rome tried to re-decorate the Chicago landscape with my brain matter.

"So I don't really know what he was up to. I was trying to question him in a civilized matter, but he took it all wrong, and the next thing I know the place is on fire and I'm getting a death curse lobbed at my head."

Elaine was shaking her head, and doing a very bad job of hiding a smile. I scowled at her.

"What?"

"A civilized manner?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Tell me that you didn't just find out where he was, go barging in there brandishing your magical phallic symbols, and not actually give any thought to how you were going to find out what they were up to."

Murphy snorted, and I scowled harder, to no effect. "That's totally —you can't —okay, fine. Maybe I didn't exactly think it through. Sue me."

Michael cleared his throat. "Maybe we could keep this on-topic?"

Elaine looked a bit abashed, and I stopped scowling. Thomas looked at me, cocking his head to the side, and I noticed both Elaine and Molly stealing covert glances at him. I sighed. Even when he's not trying, Thomas is annoyingly alluring. "What about this death curse? That's what all this is about, right? You're under a death curse, like... I mean, when a practitioner dies, he or she uses up all their remaining energy to make your life a living hell, right?"

I quirked an eyebrow at him. There are only a couple of people alive (or, technically, animated) who know of my mother's death curse against Thomas' father, the king of the White Court and head of House Raith. He is those things in name only. Thomas' sister Lara pulls all the strings now, and Thomas and I are the only other two people who know about it, lest it upset the whole of the balance of the White Court. I decided to pretend I hadn't noticed his slip.

"That's about the essence of it, yeah."

Molly bit her lip. "I thought it was pretty much impossible for a death curse to, umm..." she hesitated.

"Outright kill someone?" I supplied helpfully, and she nodded, not meeting my eyes. "Pretty much, yeah."

"So... it's not a death curse?"

"No, I think it is," Elaine said softly. She glanced up at me, her soft eyes boring into mine. "I don't know how he managed it, but you were haemorrhaging energy when I got here, Harry. I'm not entirely sure what it is. We... I kind of jury-rigged a shield for you. It's blocking the drain temporarily, but that's it. It's just temporary."

My stomach felt as though I had just swallowed a big lump of lead.

"So, basically, you're saying that unless we find a way to reverse this permanently, I'm going to die."

*****


	14. Chapter 14

Greetings again, folks!

I'm having a lot of fun writing this thing, and I hope you're enjoying it as well. I'm a bit swamped at work and with other things these days, so it's slowing down production quite a bit, but I'll keep 'em coming as long as people show interest.

As usual, comments are very much appreciated!

*****

Nothing got resolved then and there. That would have been way too easy. Oh, there was a lot of talk back and forth, mostly speculation about what the vampires were after, but with so little to go on, it became an exercise in frustration. One by one, people left as the evening wore on. Michael and Charity left first, with a reluctant Molly in tow, citing a school night as a reasonable excuse to leave me alone with Elaine. Murphy and Thomas followed, and that left Elaine on my sofa, her legs curled under her, watching me with the same eyes that had won me over when we were teenagers. The eyes were a little older now, a little wiser, a whole lot sadder, but they were still the same eyes. She didn't say anything, but then, she didn't have to. Silences with Elaine weren't awkward —unless I made them awkward, and I do have a talent for that.

"Uh, have you got a place to stay?"

She smiled at me. "I was thinking of your couch, actually. It's pretty comfy, and cheaper than a hotel." Her smile faded. "Also, I want to keep an eye on you."

"Not too sure about this magical jury-rigging of yours, I take it?"

"What do you want from me, Harry? I get dragged halfway across the country to find you at death's door from some curse I know nothing about, and you expect me to pull a cure out of thin air?"

I may not always be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I know enough to back down when Elaine gets mad. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, bad joke. I'm sorry. I apologize."

She sighed and rubbed her face with both hands. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just... I was worried. I _am_ worried. I didn't know what to expect when I got here, and... it was worse than what I'd imagined. Can you even begin to understand what that was like?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I never meant for you to get dragged into this."

"I'm not sorry Molly called: don't think that for a minute. It's just... I still haven't put all the pieces together, you know, from before." She didn't have to say more. Only she knows, and I have an inkling, of how badly Justin DuMorne broke her back when he had her in his thrall and tried to murder me. "And then when I saw you," she fiddled with her ring, keeping her gaze averted from mine, "and you were so far gone, I didn't know if there was even anything I could do, and it scared me, Harry. I'm not ready to —to lose anyone else. Not now."

I felt my chest constrict at that. I'm not made of stone, okay? And even if Elaine and I aren't involved anymore, and probably never will be again, there's a part of me that still loves her. She was my first, and you never forget your first. I got up from my chair and moved to sit next to her on the sofa. She let me gather her into my arms and leaned her head on my chest with a small sigh. Her hair smelled nice, like strawberries and sunlight.

"Don't worry, kiddo. I'm not going anywhere."

She poked me in the ribs. "We're the same age, jerk."

"Ow! Technically, I'm older than you."

"By a few months. That stops counting after you turn ten, Harry."

"Says you."

I could feel her laughing against me, and relaxed. At my feet, Mouse chuffed contentedly.

"Molly's a good kid," she said after a few moments. "You've taught her really good control. She was a big help, even though she was afraid."

"Molly helped?"

She nodded. "Yeah. It was too big a job to do by myself, and there wasn't exactly time to call in for back-up. She's a firecracker, that one. Stood up to both her parents and Murphy. Not many teenagers who can do that."

"She got into an argument with her parents _and_ Murphy? The girl obviously has more of a death wish than I thought."

"Don't be an ass, Harry. You were unconscious, practically in a coma, and everyone around you started to panic before I got here. They wanted to take you to a hospital, and she stood her ground until I got here and was able to back her up."

"I told Murphy the hospital was a bad idea. She never believes me until the machines have started breaking down. And Michael and Charity really ought to know better by now."

Elaine's voice was gentle. "You can't blame them, Harry. They were frightened for you, and normal people go to the hospital when they're sick."

I chuckled. "Well, you know how well I do normal."

She ignored the comment. "It took me a while to convince them that she was right. The way you were bleeding energy, I think the whole hospital might have gone up in smoke."

That got my attention. I shifted my weight so that we could both sit back comfortably. "All right, now that the others are gone, maybe you can tell me what you found, and explain the mechanics of what you did. I'd like to know just how long I have, here."

"You were pretty far gone when I got here."

"So you said." I tried not to be impatient, letting her take things at her own pace. Okay, maybe I was a little impatient. Sue me.

"It's hard to explain, exactly. I don't know what I was Seeing, except that it was really bad."

"You used your Sight?"

She nodded. "I had to. It's strange, because physically there's nothing really wrong with you, except for the external injuries."

I snorted. "You could have fooled me."

"You could have fooled all of us. Your body is reacting exactly as though you were physically ill, but you're not. It's all psychic wounds, but I've never seen anything so bad. It's like you were bleeding out through every pore in your body, and the more time went on the worse it got." She shuddered. "You were covered in blood —even the whites of your eyes."

I squeezed her shoulders, not knowing what to say. The thing about using your Sight, that ability that all wizard have to see the world the way it truly is, magic and all, is that you can never _un_see what you've Seen. It stays there forever, and it never fades away. Whatever horror imprints itself in your mind stays there, as fresh and horrific as the moment you first Saw it. I don't know what Elaine Saw when she looked at me, but given some of the things I had etched forever in my mind, I didn't want to think too hard about it.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, and I meant it, too.

"Molly's very powerful, you know. She's probably going to be more powerful than either of us, once she's mastered the art. I haven't felt power like hers since... well, since a very long time."

"What did you do, exactly?"

"I kind of improvised a ritual."

I laughed at that, and she drew herself up, half-indignant. "What's so funny?"

I kept laughing. "You. You 'kind of improvised a ritual?' Just like that?" I shook my head. "Stars and stones, Elaine, it's a good thing you lied to the Council, or else they'd have you on the front lines of the war."

"Which is precisely why I lied." She pointed out.

"Point taken. I'm kind of jealous, though. I haven't had a chance to do a full ritual with Molly yet. You got to break in my apprentice before me."

She tried to brush it aside, maybe as a way of salving my wounded mentor pride. "Mostly she just channelled energy for me, but she's very good. She probably saved your life. I couldn't have done it on my own."

"So what did you do?"

"There wasn't much _to_ do, to be honest. Mostly I did what you'd do to a regular injury that's bleeding: I applied pressure. I didn't want to do more, because I was afraid it would hurt you, and you were already hurting badly."

"Pressure?" It raised all sorts of mental images, none of which I imagined were particularly accurate.

"Sort of like a modified ward. It's not going to fix you, but it's slowed the energy drain almost completely."

"So I'm still leaking like a sieve, only not as fast?"

"Pretty much."

"How long do you think it'll hold up?"

She twisted the ring on her finger again. "I don't know. A few days, maybe. Maybe less. I can always try the ritual again, but it won't be effective, long-term. At best it's a stop-gap."

"Hell's bells." I wiped my good hand over my face. "No pressure, then."

She pressed up closer against me, and I stroked her hair. I confess, it was nice. It's been... a long time since I've been close to a woman, and even though I don't have any such designs on Elaine, she can still make me feel as though I've been on the receiving end of a live wire. We stayed like that for a while, I'm not sure how long, not speaking. With Elaine, I've never felt as though I always have to fill the silence. She reached up and brushed my hair away from my forehead, and involuntarily I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of her skin against mine.

"How is it that every time I see you, you always need a haircut?"

"You're bruising my ego, Elaine."

She pursed her lips in a mock-pout. "So easily bruised, too. I promise I'll be more careful in the future."

"It's okay. My ego is kind of a jerk."

"What?"

"Never mind. Long story." I leaned back against the sofa, feeling inexplicably tired. Well, maybe not inexplicably, but I wasn't expecting it.

Elaine drew herself upright, suddenly all business. "You need to go back to bed. We can figure out our plan of action in the morning, once you've had a proper night's sleep. And no, a near-coma doesn't count as sleep."

"I never said it did."

"You were going to."

"Am I really that predictable?"

She laughed and tugged me to my feet. "Bed. Now. You're dead on your feet, and if we're going to beat this thing, you're going to need to rest as much as you can. Nothing's going to replace the energy you've lost, so you're not going to lose any more while I'm on watch."

I didn't have the energy or the inclination to resist. With a last gentle shove, Elaine ushered me back to my room, then stood on her tiptoes, and kissed me on the cheek.

"Good night, Harry. Try to get some sleep, okay?"

"I will."

I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then bit back a sigh, changed out of my clothes, and climbed back into my bed, which had been fitted with clean sheets and pillow cases while I'd been up, bless the little faery hearts who took care of me. I thought that after everything that had happened, with all I had on my mind, that I wouldn't be able to sleep at all, but seconds after my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.

*****


	15. Chapter 15

Hello again!

The story is slowing down, and my apologies for this. I'm trying to figure out which of several paths to take with the plot. Bear with me as I muddle through, 'kay? :) As always, comments are more than welcome.

*****

I awoke feeling as though my chest was being crushed. I wheezed, gasped, and flailed until I finally managed to dislodge Mister, who had decided to go to sleep on my chest. He grumbled at me and stalked to the foot of the bed while I checked for broken ribs. Finding none, I reached out and scratched him behind the ears. To my surprise, he let me, which tells me that something was up. Mister is usually more aggressive in his affections toward me, preferring the football method to the more conventional pet-and-purr routine of regular cats.

"I guess even you got worried, huh."

He head-butted me, which I took as a yes, then jumped off the bed and stalked out of the room, obviously having important things to get to. Cats.

I was actually feeling kind of shaky, and the thought of food and, more importantly, coffee, was really enticing. I showered as quickly as I could (the cold water wasn't nearly as pleasant now), shaved, and found some clean clothes before heading to the kitchen, brushing the tips of my fingers against the wall to help keep my balance.

Elaine was up before me, but not for long, judging by the state of her hair and the fact that she was still in a lavender tank top and a pair of grey cotton draw-string pajama bottoms. I found her in my kitchen, making coffee in my stove-top percolator.

"You save my life and you make coffee. Marry me?"

She flinched visibly. "A bit early to make that sort of joke, Harry," she said gently.

Sometimes, I can be a colossal ass. "Sorry." I seemed to be apologizing a lot lately.

The phone rang, and I leaped on the opportunity to get away from the whole pile of awkward I had managed to create with just one sentence. "I'll get it. It's been a while since I've been able to answer my own telephone." I hurried away before she could say anything else, and picked up the receiver.

"Dresden. How are you?"

"Heya, Murph. I'm okay, but judging from your tone, I'm wishing I'd had coffee before answering the phone."

She snorted. "Tell me about it. Look, I don't have time to talk right now. Are you feeling up to coming down to a crime scene?"

"Yeah, sure. Elaine patched me up like new, you saw. Where are you?" I grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper and scribbled down the address she gave me. It was near the docks.

Figures.

Elaine handed me a cup of coffee when I returned to the kitchen. "I don't suppose there's anything I can say or so to convince you to stay home and take it easy?"

"Not short of tying me to a chair, no. Besides, I'm kind of on a deadline here. I've only got a couple of days before this makeshift seal of yours goes bust, right? So that means I have to figure out how to get rid of this curse, and the best way to do that is to find the new vampire in charge."

She shook her head. "I don't like it. I don't have to tell you how dangerous and downright stupid it is for you to go off by yourself, right? The ritual could fail at any time. We'll probably have to do it again at dawn tomorrow, when the astral tides shift. If it wears off before then, you could collapse."

It wasn't exactly encouraging news. I pinched the bridge of my nose. "I don't see what choice I have. The alternative is to stay here and stew in my own juices."

She made a move as though to reach out and touch my arm, but thought better of it and pulled her hand back to her face. "At least let me help."

"I can't take you to the crime scene. Murphy has enough trouble explaining me, let alone if I bring a hot young woman with me."

She ignored the comment. "I've got contacts. I'll see what I can get from them."

"What sort of contacts?" Okay, so maybe I've become a little paranoid in my old age. Being paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you, after all, and erring on the side of caution has never steered me wrong.

"Why don't you let me do some asking around, see if I can get started on the theory of this stuff. Even if you find the vampires, and even if they conveniently and politely tell you exactly what they're up to and how to stop it, it can't hurt to have a Plan B."

"All right." I tore my scrap of paper in half and wrote another number on the blank half. "Here's the number for Billy. Ask him to show you around the city. Your contacts aren't exactly local."

"The werewolf?"

"Right. He and the Alphas are always up for a good time of hunting evil things. I think they've been a bit bored lately anyway. It'll give them something new to chew on."

She groaned. "That's terrible."

I grinned. "Thank you, you've been a terrific audience. I'm here until Thursday."

"I take it back. _You're_ terrible," she returned the grin. "Anything I should know about them? I didn't exactly have much to do with them last time I was here. A bit busy with other things, you know."

I nodded, not wanting to revisit her last stay in Chicago in too much detail. Too painful all around. "On that note, I have to go. Murphy hates it when I'm late."

"At least have something to eat." Elaine protested.

I was already shrugging into my coat. "I'll grab something on the way." I grabbed my staff, tucked my blasting rod into my coat, and headed out the door, only to have the world suddenly spin on its axis. I clutched at the door frame to keep my balance, and heard Elaine gasp behind me. A moment later everything righted itself, and I straightened, waving a hand at her. "It's okay, I'm okay."

"Harry?"

It's amazing how much she can insert into just one word. "Just got dizzy for a moment. I'm okay, I promise," I turned toward her and gave her my most winning smile. "I'll see you later."

She hesitated, looking as though she was just dying to say something, but apparently thought better of it. "Okay, Harry. Just be careful."

I grinned. "You know me."

Elaine gave me a rueful smile. "That's exactly the problem."

*****


	16. Chapter 16

Hi again folks, and thanks for bearing with me. I have never been good at writing "transition" scenes, and that's exactly what I have to do right now, so things have kind of slowed to a crawl. Don't worry, it ought to speed up again once I get past this annoying spot of lots-of-exposition, not-so-much-action. Thanks for reading, and as always I am super happy to receive comments. :)

*****

It was pouring rain outside. I'm talking sheet-levels of torrential downpour. Even with my hat and duster, I was soaked in seconds. I hunched my shoulders and pulled up my collar in a fruitless effort to keep at least a little dry, and headed over to the Blue Beetle, fishing in my pocket for the keys. There was a parking ticket on the windshield. I swore. It never rains but it pours. Pun not intended. Still, it was nice to be back out in the field, and the Blue Beetle looked pleased to see me too. Well, inasmuch as a car can look pleased about anything. The Beetle isn't really blue anymore, as I've mentioned. The nature of my job, plus my own nature, tends to be very hard on most automobiles, and the Beetle has taken more than its fair share of lumps and bumps. The name is something of a misnomer now, since both doors have had to be replaced —one white, one green— and the lid of the trunk in the front got slagged by something I'd rather not go into now, and was replaced with the one from a red car, and the interior got snacked on by a monster fungus a couple of years ago. Unlike all the other cars I've managed to kill in my short but colourful career, though, the Beetle is still hanging in there, in no small part thanks to my genius mechanic, Mike. If I had more money, I would put Mike on permanent retainer, because not only is he a genius who makes my car go no matter what abuse I put it through, he also never asks a single question about all the weird damage I cause it.

While I was waxing eloquent to myself in my mind about how reliable my car was, it wheezed and rattled painfully when I turned the key in the ignition, and refused to start. I swore under my breath, and tried again. Nothing. It took several minutes of fiddling and coaxing before the engine gave a cough and roared into life. The windshield wipers didn't really cooperate, but after a while I got them to at least try half-heartedly, and so I drove slowly and carefully to the address Murphy had given me. At least the heavy rain had discouraged most people from venturing out, and the streets were virtually deserted, making the drive safer than it would have been otherwise.

The address turned out to be yet another deserted warehouse. I sighed. Warehouses and I don't get along all that well. I tend to set fire to them if I'm not careful. In my defence, it's usually because someone's trying to kill me at the time. I parked the Beetle and got out, hurrying to get in out of the rain before I drowned standing up.

Murphy was waiting for me behind the yellow tape.

"Body's back that way," she said, jerking her chin toward the back of the warehouse.

"Morning, Murphy," I tried sluicing the water off myself, with little success. "You're looking awfully grim. No coffee yet?"

She set her jaw, lips pressed together in a thin line. "You'll see when you get there. You look like hell, Dresden. You sure you're up for this?"

I shrugged. "I feel okay. It's been a rough week. Forgive me if I don't bounce back from this sort of thing the way my brother does —he has a significant metabolic advantage over me."

"I thought he didn't have a metabolism?"

"Exactly." I shivered in spite of myself. Water had dripped down the back of my neck and was now soaking my shirt. I gave Murphy what I hoped was a forbidding look, to forestall any more questions along the lines of was I all right and was I sure I could do this and so on. "What would you like me to look at?"

"Follow me," she turned on her heel and led me past the small troupe of uniforms and crime scene specialists who were milling about with a whole lot more equipment than I was strictly comfortable being around. I've already cost the department a lot of money in damaged equipment, although technically most of that wasn't my fault. "I figured that you ought to take a look around, since you haven't seen any of the crime scenes before this. It's about the same as the others, except the location is different. Sniff around, see if you can pick up whatever it is that happened to this guy? Official cause of death on the others is total hypovolimia, caused by, and I quote "we don't know what the hell it was."

"Murphy, speak English, please."

She turned and gave me a smirk. "Fever addled your command of the language, Dresden? Exsanguination. Complete blood loss. Hence the vampires."

"You could have just said right off," I grumbled. It was good to see she hadn't lost all her humour, though. That's when I knew things were bad.

The body belonged to a young man in his early twenties. Clean-cut, all-American boy, by the looks of him, dressed in jeans, keds and a grey hoodie, very obviously posed in a manner reminiscent of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, minus the extra limbs, obviously.

I ignored the looks I was drawing and knelt next to the body. Exsanguination is a hell of a way to go, but that wasn't really what I was looking for. We already knew that vampires were responsible, after all. So the question was not who, but why? I pulled off the glove from my left hand, flexing the fingers gingerly. My hand still looks like a melted wax replica, but it's better than it was, and I've slowly been getting more sensation and increased mobility in it. Butters thinks it has something to do with the fact that wizards live a lot longer than most humans. It's not exactly super-human healing capabilities, but it's better than what most people could expect. My hand got burned beyond recognition the last time I faced off against Black Court vampires, and this whole situation was not making me feel all that optimistic. I stretched my hand over the body, concentrating: magic is like anything else, it leaves traces, if you know what you're looking for. It's a bit different for everyone, but I can usually feel it prickle against my skin, like electricity.

I felt nothing.

I blinked, surprised, and tried again. There was no way, knowing what I did, that there would be no residual magic hovering around. Still nothing. I sighed. I didn't want to open up my Sight yet again, at least not unless it was a last resort. Too many horrible things floating around in there already. Murphy cleared her throat from behind me, and I gave a jump, startled.

"Find anything?"

I shook my head. "I've only been here thirty seconds, Murph. I can't sense any magical energy, but I'm going to try something else."

"Try not to drip water on the corpse, okay?"

I ignored her, and rummaged in my pouch for some copper filings. "Has the scene been cleared yet? I want to scatter these around, but I don't want to contaminate anything."

She nodded. "You're good to go."

There are a lot of things about magic that don't make sense to me, even though I've been studying it for years. Copper is one of them. It works, and that's all there is to it. So when I scattered the filings around the body, they immediately took the shape of what had been done to this kid. I felt vaguely sick. Someone had traced a pentacle on the floor around him, although the body had been placed upside-down inside the figure, the tip of the pentagram sticking out from between his legs. I wear a silver pentacle around my neck, left to me by my mother, and using the sign of my religion —everything I believe in— and perverting it like this, well, it made my stomach turn. I heard Murphy suck in her breath with a small hiss.

"Dresden, is that what I think it is?"

I nodded, then got to my feet. Why hadn't I been able to sense it? "What else do we know about these murders?"

Murphy didn't answer. When I turned to her I found her looking at me, her eyes wide. "Dresden..." I felt something wet on my upper lip. Great. I was dripping rain water on her corpse after all. I reached up to wipe the rain away, and my fingertips came away crimson. She fumbled in a pocket, came up with a wad of tissues and handed them to me.

"Thanks," it came out a little muffled as I pinched my nose shut. Just great.

Murphy touched my elbow lightly. "Sit over here, and keep your head back."

I found a chair and complied. Arguing with Murphy is not something I undertake lightly, and the nosebleed was getting worse rather than better. I could taste copper in my mouth, and I knew it wasn't because of the shavings. I leaned over as I threatened to choke on my own blood, and was working on finding a way to stem the flow when another voice broke into my thoughts.

"Harry Dresden. It's bad enough I turned a blind eye while Murphy let you in on this, but do you have to bleed all over my crime scene, too? How am I supposed to explain your presence here if we trace anything back to you?"

"Stallings," I raised a hand in greeting, the other one still clamped over my nose. "Sorry about the mess. Not intentional."

"Who did you piss off?" he grinned at me.

"No one, I swear. It's an honest-to-God nosebleed. No one punched me. Not this time, anyway." I coughed and swallowed another mouthful of blood. Yuck.

"If you say so, Dresden. Now, unless you've managed to solve this thing in the last two minutes, I'm going to turn my back and walk in the other direction."

"It was nice not seeing you, Stallings."

I like Stallings. He's a stand-up guy. He took over SI from Murphy after I inadvertently cost her her post and her rank. Again, not exactly my fault, and Murphy doesn't hold it against me. She wanted to come, wanted to help, and neither of us counted on the fact that time moves differently in the Nevernever, and she lost a whole day while we thought we were only gone for a couple of hours at best. Unexplained absences are usually worth an officer's badge, and in this case Murphy lost SI and was broken back down to Sergeant. She might not hold it against me, but I can't help but hold it against myself. Stallings got a promotion out of the deal, and he's certainly more open-minded than most cops. He also has a very fine line to walk, given the bad PR that SI has been getting of late. Again, sort of my fault. So he couldn't very well hire me as a consultant anymore, something which made my wallet a whole lot lighter these days. The only thing keeping me afloat, aside from the occasional client who found me through the phone book, was the stipend I was getting from the Council as a Warden. Yeah, I can't quite wrap my mind around the grey cloak either, but the Council kind of ran out of options during the war: with so many casualties, it was either offer me the cloak or else have most of the region go unpoliced.

I glanced up at Murphy. "Any chance I can see the rest of the files?"

She handed me another wad of tissues, as I'd soaked through the current handful, then squatted down on her heels, surveying the body. "I'll see what I can manage. What I just can't figure out is how they're picking their victims. There's no apparent link between them, apart from their age, and there's been a murder almost every week for the past month. It doesn't make any sense."

I dabbed at my nose with the tissues, the bleeding seemingly having stopped. "There might not be a connection," I said, annoyed at how congested I sounded. Stupid nosebleed. "It might just be random kids they're grabbing. I'd have to look at all the crime scene photos to be sure, but I think the connection is elsewhere."

"You feeling up to coming back to the precinct with me? I can't take the photos to you, but I can probably smuggle you into them, as long as you're really, _really_ discreet, Dresden."

"You know me. Discretion is my middle name."

"I thought it was Blackstone Copperfield."

I glared at her. "Conjure by it at your own risk."

She rolled her eyes. "Perish the thought. Anything else you want to do here before we leave? I've got all I need for now. Unlike you, some of us have been working since before dawn."

I mimicked the motion of rolling up my sleeves. "Give me ten minutes to work my mojo, and then we can go."

"Okay, Dresden. Ten minutes."

*****


	17. Chapter 17

It's November! That means that I will be working a lot on my current novel project (zombies!), and as such this little fic may be a bit neglected. I will try very hard to keep the story going, but bear with me, okay?

Thanks for the reviews! They are music to my ears. :)

This chapter is kind of short, but there will be more to come, I promise

*****

The rain was still coming down by the bucketful by the time I was finished and we headed back out. Normally I would have liked to stay longer, but there were a few things working against me. For one, I wasn't officially supposed to be there, and the longer I stayed under the scrutiny of cops and crime scene techs, the more likely it was that word of my presence would leak out and get Murphy into even more trouble, and I didn't exactly want that on my conscience. For another, I was starting to feel not so hot, even with Elaine's warding... thingie... still doing its thing. I was beginning to suspect that, whatever it was she had done, it had something to do with why I couldn't sense the magical energy coming off the body. If she'd placed a sort of shield or ward around me, it might act like a kind of dampening field. It was unsettling, as though I'd had a limb paralysed or cut off. I should have asked her for the specifics on what she did, if only so that I could put a technical name to it, and maybe even reproduce it if push came to shove. Or explain to someone else how to reproduce it. Maybe. Better to amputate than die, right? I shuddered in spite of myself. This was new territory, and I wasn't exactly keen on exploring it, no matter how crappy I felt.

Not that I was about to say anything about feeling sick to Murphy. She had enough on her mind as it was, without having to worry about something over which she had no control. The nosebleed wasn't exactly reassuring, although it had stopped completely, and I was hopeful that it wouldn't come back. I followed her out into the rain, then clambered into the Blue Beetle. I heard the engine of Murphy's car grumble into life, and turned the key in my own ignition. Nothing. I cursed and tried again. Still nothing. I kept trying, but this time there wasn't even a flicker of life in the old girl. After five minutes Murphy got out of her car and came to tap on the window, her expression a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Need a lift, Dresden?"

I blew out my cheeks in a sigh of frustration. "If you wouldn't mind. I'll call Mike from your office."

"You need a better car," she said as we got into hers and headed out.

"The problem isn't the car. I've explained this already."

"Uh-huh." She looked dubious, until a moment later when her radio crackled loudly, gave off an unhappy-sounding whine of feedback, and then died. "You're costing me a fortune in electronics."

"Sorry." I concentrated on not making her car die, not that I had that much control over it. My little 'talent' of screwing up technology seemed to be acting up worse than usual: by the time we got back to SI, Murphy's engine was making a grinding noise that was definitely not normal-sounding. She didn't say anything, but then, she didn't have to. I just hoped that I wouldn't have to pay two mechanics' bills at the end of the day. My finances haven't exactly been in great shape lately.

We went in through the back door, so as not to attract too much attention. Murphy held up a hand to stop me before we stepped into the situation room. "Wait up. Let me go in and turn off the computers and projector first."

I fidgeted in the hallway while she did that, dripping rainwater into a puddle on the floor. I've never been particularly good at waiting for anything. I shivered, hunching my shoulders in my duster, and not for the first time wished that they'd turn on the heating in this building before January. I glanced into the room in time to see Murphy beckon to me, and followed her lead. The room was set up the way it always was in the case of multiple murders and serial killers: a map of the city on one wall, complete with pin-flags to mark the location of the bodies, photos of the victims in all conceivable positions tacked to a cork board on another wall, the third wall made of white board covered in notes written with dry-erase markers. I immediately recognized Murphy's neat cursive, as well as Stallings' illegible scrawl, and a number of other examples of handwriting whose owners I couldn't identify.

"How long have you been tracking these guys?"

Murphy grunted. "Not long enough. Three weeks, but the murders started the week before that —we just didn't connect the first one to the others until the second week of the investigation. The murders seem so random, you know?" she gestured at the boards in frustration. "There's no obvious link between the victims, the locations are so far apart that I can't think of a good reason for which they were picked. I feel like I'm grabbing at straws, here, and I don't know about you, but I can't help but feel we're running out of time."

"I know what you mean," I found myself staring at the map of Chicago on the wall, little red flags marking the locations of all four murders, and for the first time in well over a week things snapped into place. "I can't believe there's no connection. There has to be. Why go to all this trouble and leave evidence of what they're doing behind, unless it was absolutely necessary? What if... Murph, you got any tracing paper?"

She blinked at me, then got up from where she'd been perching on the edge of a desk. "I'll see what I can rustle up."

She returned a few minutes later with paper that was at least transparent enough to pass as tracing paper, and I pressed it onto the map, uncapping a felt pen with my teeth. I marked the four points where the murders had been committed, and added a fifth dot. Removing the paper from the wall I spread it out on the table. "Do you see it?"

"See what?" she bent over the paper.

I took the pen and played connect-the-dots. "See it now?"

"Christ," she breathed. "It was staring me in the face."

On the paper, I had traced an almost perfect pentagram.


	18. Chapter 18

SS*****

Sorry for the delay, everyone! Here's a shiny new chapter. Hope you enjoy it. :)

*****

"So what does it mean?" Murphy asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. We were closeted in her office, away from prying eyes, going through all the casebooks one by one. It had already been hours, and my eyes were aching from the strain.

"I think it's a ritual. There's no other explanation. Summoning power for something. Something big."

"How big?"

I shrugged. "Big enough."

"That's not reassuring, Harry."

"It wasn't meant to be," I was tracing the pentagram on a smaller version of the map of Chicago, making notes, and squinting in annoyance at my handwriting, which was even worse than usual. Might have helped if my hands weren't shaking. "You're missing a fifth victim. Probably sometime next week, if the pattern holds up. From what I can tell..." The pen slipped in my grasp, clattered to the floor. I swore, scrabbling after it, and only managed to knock it further, feeling more than a little light-headed all of sudden.

Murphy scooped up the pen, put it on the table, fixed me with one of those patented Murphy-style glares. "What's wrong with you?"

"What? Nothing." Okay, so I was lying through my teeth. Sue me. It's a guy thing.

"Bull, Dresden. Did you eat today? At all? We've been here for hours."

"Uh..." Yeah, smooth, Harry. Skilled investigator, master of deception, that's me.

"That's it. Grab your notes, I'm getting you some food. I swear, Dresden, you make me want to kill you myself."

I've already mentioned that arguing with Murphy is something I don't undertake lightly, right? It's all about picking your battles, and right now the idea of food wasn't entirely repugnant. Murphy hustled me out the back door, parked me in a chair in a booth at the back of the cops' favourite local diner, and didn't even leave me the dignity of ordering my own food. Once I was tucking into a cheeseburger, she pulled out our notes, spread them on the table.

"Better?"

I nodded. "Yeah, thanks."

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You're an idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

"So what were you going to tell me?"

I tapped my finger on the map on which I had drawn the pentagram. "I know a couple of these addresses. I'm willing to bet the others all have the same thing in common."

"Are we playing twenty questions, Dresden, or are you going to tell me?"

"Murph," I said chidingly. "You're ruining my pacing here. It's all about the big reveal, right?"

"Dresden..."

"Fine, sorry." Some people have no appreciation for the theatre. "I think all the buildings belong to Johnny Marcone."

Murphy groaned in such a melodramatic manner that I immediately doubted my earlier assessment that she didn't appreciate the theatre. "Tell me you're kidding."

I finished the burger, started on the fries. The food was greasy and a little cold, and tasted absolutely wonderful. "Afraid not. If it's any consolation, he's probably being set up. That's what this feels like."

She buried her head in her hands. "Just great. Why would a bunch of vampires want to set up Marcone?"

"Beats me. He's a Free Lord under the Unseelie Accords, so I'm guessing that probably has something to do with it. It could be any number of reasons. They might be using his territory as a way of getting him in trouble, indirectly. They could be using it as a conduit, could be trying to provoke him into doing something that will violate the Accords, could be anything."

"That's helpful," she said wryly, reaching for yet another cup of coffee. I swear, it's like gasoline for cops.

"We're going to have to talk to him, as much as the prospect delights me. Fair warning, see if he can shore up the defences on his buildings. Hell, I bet Gard and Hendricks would love an opportunity to flex their muscles."

"Okay, but let me set it up. Knowing you, you'll just go barging in there and wreck any chance we have to get him to cooperate."

"You never let me have any fun," I complained. I was already compiling lists in my head, trying to sort out what might be going on, and all it was doing was giving me a splitting headache. I guess something must have showed on my face, because Murphy gave my elbow a gentle nudge.

"Dresden, you look like hell. You need to go home, get some rest."

"I'm fine."

"The hell you are. I'm taking you home."

Okay, maybe I was feeling crappier than I let on, because I couldn't quite find the energy to argue with her, never mind picking my battles. Letting Murphy boss me around was becoming a habit which was pretty hard to break. What can I say, she can be pretty persuasive. So I let her shove me into her car, tried not to cringe as her engine made an unhappy grinding noise and the radio squealed and crackled at eardrum-popping levels.

"I'm taking my mechanic bills out of your next paycheque," Murphy informed me grimly.

"Sorry." I leaned back in the seat, trying to keep my eyes open. How on earth could I be so tired after spending less than half a day looking at paperwork? I shrugged off her attempt to help me out of the car —there's only so much of a beating my ego can take, after all— told her I'd give her a call if I found anything, extracted a promise that she would call once she had word from Marcone. She looked as though she wanted to say something, but mercifully held her tongue.

I stumbled a bit on the stairs going back into my apartment, clutched the railing for support, and made for the nearest flat surface that wasn't the floor, which turned out to be the sofa. After a few minutes I started feeling better, went to the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the icebox. The headache receded, vanished completely, and the vague feeling of dizziness that had been plaguing me for hours went with it. Not that I was complaining, but it kind of weirded me out.

"Uh, Harry?"

I turned to find Molly in the doorway. "How come you're not in school?"

She rolled her eyes. "Hi to you too, Harry. For one, I finish early on Thursdays, remember? For two, I was here doing my homework, and for three I was worried about you."

"I'm fine."

"Sure, you are."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, suddenly tired. "Come on, Molly. Leave off, please."

"But..."

I'd already snapped at Molly way too many times in the past week. I forced myself to take a breath, to keep calm. "Molly, please. I'm as well as I'm going to get until this is over, okay? I just... need you to lay off with the concern."

"Fine," she folded her arms across her chest, went into a full-blown adolescent sulk, a skill she'd mastered years before.

I finished my Coke. "Okay, grasshopper. You want to help? Now's your chance. How do you feel about brewing up some potions?"

Her eyes lit up. "You mean... solo?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I, uh..." I swallowed hard —pride is very large and unwieldy when you're trying to cram it down your own throat. "I can't do it like this. I don't have the focus, or the stamina, and definitely not enough energy to go sparking a potion, but I have a feeling I'm going to need them before too long. So, it's time for you to spread your wings, try a couple of laps around the nest on your own."

"Oh my God that's awesome!" She didn't quite jump up and down and clap her hands, but I could tell it cost her not to do it.

I grinned in spite of myself. "Okay, grasshopper, cool it. I'll be supervising, and you'll be working from a manual of sorts." I hesitated, knowing this was it, the moment I had to make a decision, although I hadn't planned on it for a while, at least not until she was of legal age. "I'm going to have to swear you to secrecy on this, Molly. Can you do that for me?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded. "Okay."

"All right." I shrugged off my duster, reached for my robes. She was already wearing hers, and I guessed that the homework she'd been talking about hadn't been for school. "Follow me."

I made my way slowly down the ladder into the workshop, Molly close on my heels, motioned to her to grab a seat, then murmured a spell to light the candles. One of them sputtered, sparked, then guttered out almost immediately, and for a second I saw nothing but black spots dancing in front of my eyes.

"Harry?"

I waved a hand at her. "It's okay. I just... maybe you'd better do it."

She lit the candles, using matches. Fire spells are more my thing, and she was conserving energy for the potions. I reached out and rapped with one finger on the skull on the shelf. "Bob, come on out. Meet Molly. Molly, this is Bob."

She turned, her eyes wide. "Cool."

*****


	19. Not an update, an apology

My apologies, folks.

I have hit a narrative snag, and am trying to fix it but it's taking a while. I haven't forgotten about this little story, although I will confess to having been sucked into a different fandom for a while, which isn't helping things.

Sorry for the delay, but I promise I'm working on it and I'll be posting the rest as soon as I'm able. I haven't abandoned** The Dresden Files**, I swear!

Thanks for all the nice reviews and messages! I'll try not to disappoint. :)

~Mousme


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